


Nothing but Dust (And Then There's You)

by Tamoline



Series: And Then There's You [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 16:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21359164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: Natasha doesn't stop - can't stop - fighting after the Snap, trying to keep everyone as safe as she can. But that doesn't mean that she can't use a little help, even if it comes from an unexpected direction.That doesn't mean that anything more will happen. Natasha just doesn't have time for attraction.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Natasha Romanov
Series: And Then There's You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552363
Comments: 25
Kudos: 75
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	Nothing but Dust (And Then There's You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).

> Thank you to Kithri and TheOneWhoWas for betaing.

One moment Natasha is asleep, the next she’s awake, body still, eyes closed, senses extended to detect any imminent danger. There’s a slight ache in the top part of her back from the position in which she’s been sleeping, head sprawled over a desk, her cheek’s flattened against what she’s fairly sure is paper and there’s someone six to seven feet away at just shy of ten o’clock. From the combination of silence mixed with gentle worry that she doesn’t deserve, she’s fairly sure she knows who it is as well.

“I can feel the judgement from here, Rogers,” she rasps, then clears her throat, reaching blindly for the bottle of water she keeps stashed on the table. From the weight, disappointingly, it’s empty. Something else she’ll have to rectify.

“I wasn’t going to say a thing,” he says mildly. “Though I am going to be able to sneak up on you one day.”

She smirks and levers her eyes open, dislodging the sleep crusting them shut. Rogers is standing near the entrance to the situation room, dressed in running shorts and a t-shirt, like he’s about to go running. Or possibly, knowing him, just on the way back. Disgusting, really. “Never going to happen.” If she’s honest with herself — and she does do her best to avoid such an undignified circumstance — just the fact that she let her guard down enough to sleep in such an open room… She start shuffling through the papers she fell asleep on to examine the damage. Just some crumpled trade report summaries — not exactly vital to her job, but always a good indicator of trouble coming — and some drool on a sheet of paper detailing rumours about strange lights in the Caucasus that could be anything from nothing to aliens to a someone assembling high tech facilities. 

Close enough to Wakanda that she could probably get Okoye to detail someone to take a look at it — if she wasn’t aware of it already — but maybe it’d be nice to get out of here and stretch her legs a little herself. If she can find the time away from the more administrative side of things, of course.

But, in any case, no irreplaceable damage done even if its a good reminder of the things she hadn’t got completed last night.

“Want me to get you some breakfast?”

She jerks a little back up to look at him. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you,” she says. “Just… downgraded your immediate importance.”

Steve huffs out a laugh and holds a hand up to his chest in mock offence. “Nice to know where I stand. So? I managed to pick up some grapefruit down the store that look kind of amazing.”

Natasha considers for a second. Her body isn’t crying out for food yet… but something light like grapefruit couldn’t hurt either. “Hit me,” she says. Steve gives her a smile and disappears, and she dives back in. She’s got a little over three hours until she’s got a meeting scheduled with a team in Brazil investigating some unexpected die offs in the rainforest and she’s determined to make every second count. A few minutes later, a halved grapefruit is slid onto the table in front of her and she can just feel Steve looking at her until she picks the spoon up to attack it. Even if she can sense the disapproval as she keeps a finger from her other hand running down line items as she does so.

He’s right though. The fruit is good.

* * *

Three guys on the outside; best guess — seven guys and a woman on the inside.

Truly, gun smuggling has yet to catch up with the twenty first century when it comes to equal opportunity hiring.

One of the men — short, wiry, tanned skin, likes to play with knives but doesn’t look that good with them — starts walking towards the truck, waving his companions goodbye and fishing the keys out of his pocket. That’s what decides her.

Better handle this now and not risk any of the weapons getting away, even if it means less chance of catching the buyers. Maybe the local authorities will be able to get something out of them afterwards. Depending on the local corruption levels, of course.

The truck itself helps hide her approach as she slips up towards the decayed warehouse, broken windows only partially still boarded up. She pops around the hood just as Knives-a-Lot opens the door.

“Hi!” she says, smiling pleasantly at his shocked face just before she throws a sting at him. “Pleased to meet you,” she murmurs as she leaves his twitching body behind.

Now she’s on the clock. She’s probably got less than a minute before the guys he left behind wonder why their pal hasn’t started up the truck. Luckily one of them has decided to check around the back and the other is standing close to a corner of the warehouse. A baton to the temple connects with a far too satisfying thump, and he’s done. From there is a quick, quiet run to take the last guy down silently with a taser…

Just in time for her to hear a call from around the front. “Eduardo? Fuck! Intruder!”

Great. She’d really hoped to have a little more time.

The one good thing is that now everyone’s attention is probably focussed towards the front. She picks the lock on the back door and slips inside to see people grabbing awkward, large, tubular rifle-type weapons from a crate in the centre of the room.

Huh. Looks like the tendril of HYDRA that had made these either hadn’t had time to make them a bit more aesthetic before everything went to hell, or just hadn’t been minded to. She can’t help but think it’s the former — HYDRA always has been too fond of their peppy fascist aesthetic for their own good.

Not that it matters. She has to contain the situation now, before any of the weapons scatter further.

Pop-pop-pop and two of the men are down and the other six scatter. No, seven, and she really misses the days when she had the resources and time to do proper recon before moving in like this. The rifles hum ominously and she has to dive before the wall she’s taken cover behind explodes in a shower of splinters — maybe she could have stood to let them scatter a little, just so their forces wouldn’t be quite this concentrated.

She can remember a time not so long ago when she would have. 

It wasn’t even all that long ago.

But the end of the world has been and gone, and — as she dives forward in a possibly reckless advance — she’ll be damned before she lets more of it be destroyed.

* * *

There’s a pleasant burn in Natasha’s muscles as she walks back into the compound. Exercises are all well and good, but there’s nothing quite like an actual live-fire mission to shake the kinks out of her muscles. Nebula and Rocket may have handled the Caucasus — and the nothing that had turned out to be — but luckily those gun-runners in Venezuela had been all too real. She’ll have to thank Okoye for that particular tip when she next speaks to her.

She enters the echoing hall that leads to the situation room… and freezes. Tap, tap, tap. There’s already someone moving around down there. They’re far too loud to be Rogers and there hasn’t been anyone else here since… Well, since everything went down. It seems unlikely that anyone would try to break in here, even now, but, well. It isn’t as though she’s only just finished kicking the butts of people exactly that stupid. She unholsters her gun and creeps down the corridor…

To see a woman sorting through the remnants of the papers she’d left on the table, picking them up and sorting them into some kind of order in a sheaf clutched to her front, partitioned by the fingers of her left hand, apparently still unaware of her. The woman doesn’t look like the kind of person Natasha would expect to be breaking in here — doesn’t look dressed for it either, unless she’d come hoping to blend in with the non-existent office staff — but her appearance is nigglingly familiar. And that’s rarely a good thing in Natasha’s book. 

She aims her gun at the woman, who is still apparently completely clueless as to Natasha’s existence, and clears her throat “Can I help you find something?” she asks. Politely, of course.

It wouldn’t do to be rude after all.

The woman jumps, spins around, then yells as she catches sight of Natasha and drops the sheaf of papers, causing a white avalanche to descend over the floor. She makes a face and ducks down to start picking them up with a frankly disappointing lack of regard for the weapon being pointed in her direction. Natasha can’t help feeling a little disrespected. Has her reputation really gone this far down hill since she’s been on the run? “Sorry, sorry,” the woman says. “Still not used to the whole casual weaponry thing. I get that it’s probably just your way of saying hello and I know that I’m going to have to get used to it since I’m working here now.”

Wait a minute — work here? Natasha fishes out her phone and texts Rogers.  _ New hire? _ she sends with hopefully the right amount of disapproval. ** **

_ Happy Christmas! _ Apparently not.

She glowers at the phone.  _ Its feb _

_ Ur the 1 complaining about christmas in nov _

She only gets a thumbs up emoji in return. Typical. She lowers and reholsters her gun, offering the woman a tight smile. “I’m sorry, my… colleague” —like hell she’s going to call him a friend right at the moment— “didn’t tell me about your employment.”

The woman freezes, stopping her paper gathering and looks up at her, going a little pale. “Wait, so that…” she gestures in the vague direction of Natasha’s hip. “You actually meant that?”

Natasha shrugs casually. “I’d apologise for threatening someone so unassuming, but well…”

Seemingly recovering, the woman snorts. “Duh. I may not look like much, but I have tasered a god.” She gives Natasha a smirk that’s, if not entirely cocky, definitely 90% of the way there.

And suddenly the face snaps into place. It’s been the better part of ten years, but she remembers Clint telling that story… “Darcy Lewis,” she drawls, “I do presume.”

Darcy’s smile turns genuine, lighting up her face. “You’ve heard of me?” She clears her throat. “I mean, of course you’ve heard of me. Like I’ve heard of you, Natasha Romanoff.”

“Infamous spy and criminal at large,” Natasha intones.

Darcy snorts again. “Please. I did read Buzzfeed’s list of twenty things that you always wanted to know about the Black Widow, but were afraid to ask.”

Natasha barely stops herself rolling her eyes. As if she hasn’t heard that line, or something similar, from a thousand fans or people trying to pick her up. And then, all of once, it hits her how normal all this feels, like it hasn’t since before…

Before.

Natasha resists the urge to let her expression freeze, but all of a sudden she just wants this unexpected conversation to end as quickly as possible. “So, what exactly did Steve want you to do around here?”

“Right,” Darcy says and nods decisively. “Professional face.” She does in fact manage a semblance of that, before spoiling it by making a disgusted expression. “Office manager, basically. Make sure supplies are stocked, that someone tidies the spaces, that anything that isn’t maintained by the automated systems is looked after.” She waves the papers she’s managed to collect in the air. “And apparently to try and sort through communications to make your life easier.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “And of course you have experience in doing all of that,” she says coolly.

“Well, I managed to run a lab for a few years without any kind of science training beyond Chem 101 so I like to think I’m flexible.” She smirks a little in a way that Natasha can’t help but find irritating. “And, hey, I have a Political Science degree so you could argue that I actually have relevant qualifications this time.”

“Fine,” Natasha breathes. It isn’t as though someone trying to organise the Avengers compound would actually make things worse.

“Fine?” Darcy says as though she hadn’t quite expected that to work. “Right, fine,” she repeats and busies herself picking up the rest of the scattered papers.

“So, has anything relevant come in since I’ve been gone?” Natasha asks, somehow managing not to add any sarcasm to the word relevant.

Darcy bounces to her feet and grabs a neat stack of papers from the right hand side of the table. “Here’s everything that’s come in marked today.” She grabs another and slides it under the first. “And here’s everything marked yesterday. Anything that looked particularly important should be at the top, marked with a red sticker, then orange, then yellow, then green in order of my guess at their priority. I’ve also done the same for the Avengers email that Steve gave me access to.” She gives Natasha a little uncertain smile. “But tell me if I got something wrong. Not a spy person, after all.”

Natasha takes the sheets off her and stalks off to find somewhere quiet where she can look at them. Whatever else, at least she doesn’t have to sort out this kind of minutiae herself.

* * *

“You,” Natasha says, coming up behind Steve and poking him in the shoulder, “have a lot of explaining to do.” She pokes him again for good measure.

There’s something about his face as he turns around, something he clearly tries to cover up with an expression of mock innocence, something that she isn’t quite certain of. “Oh?” he tries anyway.

She thinks about letting him get away with it, thinks about actually focussing on the intern in the compound, if not currently in the room.

But.

Fuck it.

She lets her body language change from the mock-outrage covering… certainly discomfort regarding Darcy and shift to something… more relaxed, more inviting. “Hey,” she says. “How’s things?”

Steve hesitates for a moment, before giving her a muted smile, sincere but sharp with broken edges. “It’s nothing really,” he says softly. “Good news even, for once. Soraya gave birth today.”

Soraya. Someone from one of his support groups. Lost her husband. She can’t imagine what it’d be like to bring a new life into this world, still riven by all the losses. “That’s… that’s good,” she says, trying to be convincing. Though it’s definitely better than some of the other news he’s dragged back with him over the last few months.

“Yeah,” he says, not sounding entirely certain himself. Instinctively, she wraps an arm as far around his back as she can. He leans into her for a good thirty seconds, no words passing between them, just silence, before standing straight again.

She lets her arm fall to her side again. “Don’t think that this gets you out of the small personnel matter that you foisted on me. Without warning, even.”

“You’d have found some way to wriggle out of it if I’d told you,” he says mildly.

“And that’s not a reason to just rethink it?”

He turns to look at her. “Give her a chance. See how it works.” He gives her a lopsided smile. “You’re far from the only person looking for purpose nowadays. She at least has managed to find a new coffee maker for the canteen.”

Natasha suppresses a wince at that. She really had meant to pick a new one up after it broke down whilst she was using it — as opposed to her breaking it, no matter what Steve insinuates — but something had always come up. And… fine. Natasha is more than aware that there’s a lot of people looking for some kind of meaning in the new world. And maybe it won’t be too bad. The compound is certainly big enough for three people to rattle around, especially if one of them isn’t there half the time. Even if there are a couple more occasional visitors.

It’s fine. She’s handled so much more. This won’t be a problem.

Which doesn’t mean that she’s going to let Rogers get away with this totally unscathed. She gives him a hard look. “Fine. I’ll see,” she says, stressing the last word. “But no more. You want anyone else to ‘help’ me, you talk to me first.”

He gives her a smile, just for a second unblemished and without a shadow, and throws up a salute. “Yes, ma’am.” 

And, really, seeing that is almost worth the price of admission by itself. She glowers at him anyway before making a sharp exit, muttering under her breath. Call a man a captain once, and he thinks he’s in charge forever. She’ll give Darcy a chance, nothing more.

* * *

“Hey,” Darcy says as she approaches Natasha cautiously, brandishing a cup of coffee in one hand, clutching a tablet in the other. “I thought you could do with this.”

Natasha sniffs then sips at it cautiously. Not that she’s exactly expecting betrayal from someone Steve had hired, but old habits die hard. And better safe than sorry.

“Good?”

Natasha nods.

“It’s really useful being able to ask the computers around here what people’s preferences are. Not that there’s many orders to learn, granted. Always best to pacify a scientist with a cup of coffee first thing in the morning — or, well, whenever they’ve just woken up — that’s what I learned. Especially if you want them to make a decision or ask them for help. Not that you’re a scientist, but I figured that the same principle applies.”

Natasha eyes Darcy. Her speech isn’t nervous, and if there’s any tension in her posture, she’s doing a remarkable job of hiding it. If Natasha had to guess, she’d say that Darcy’s babble serves much the same purpose as the coffee — an attempt to pacify a potentially tricky person who’s theoretically higher up than her on the totem pole.

Which, honestly, Natasha can appreciate, so it’s with a genuine smile she asks, “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

“Who said I wanted to ask you anything? I certainly didn’t,” Darcy huffs.

Well, that’s an opening if Natasha’s ever seen one. “So there’s absolutely nothing on that tablet you want to show me,” she says, unable to stop her smile sliding smirk wards.

“Well if you’re going to be like that about it…” Darcy says, and goes to turn away before relenting and waving it in front of Natasha’s face. “Firstly, have you ever heard of regular sleeping hours? Or even the benefits of sleeping in a bed as opposed to sitting back in a chair and propping your feet up on whatever?”

It’s been far too soon since she was in the grip of restless slumber for Natasha to give Darcy anything other than an irritated look. “Cat-napping works for me.”

Darcy gets the message and subsides. “Moving on, a lot of the companies you were relying on to supply you with various bits and bobs have gone under, and no one bothered to authorise any of the replacements.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re a little light on personnel these days. I think we can handle the groceries ourselves,” Natasha says dryly, but her eyes flicker over what’s needed and the companies that Darcy and/or Tony’s automated system have suggested.

“If it was just fresh fruit and tampons, I’d agree,” Darcy says, “But…” She cuts off as Natasha raises a hand.

“Thanks,” Natasha says, looking up at her. “I’ll make some inquiries into these companies and let you know.”

“Also, I’d like to have a cleaning crew take after the less used spots on a regular basis. I know that the robots here seem to take care of most of it, but there are some areas that they seem to have problems with and…” She shrugs. “Better to make sure things don’t become an issue in the first place, right? And on that note, I’d like to hire maintenance staff and get them familiar with the systems when they’re in working order, so if there’s ever a problem and a relevant Avenger isn’t around…” She wrinkles her nose. “I’ve had a look at some of the schematics, and they’re not exactly easy to follow, let me tell you.”

It’s… not the worst idea. Natasha has to admit that, even if the thought of yet more people trekking through the compound brings her out in hives. And, yes, running security checks now when there isn’t an emergency definitely makes sense, especially now that Tony is mostly off the grid rather than available to take care of such problems with his usual flair.

“I’ll take care of hiring people and looking into those companies,” she says a little resignedly. “Security checks are more my thing than yours anyway.”

“Thanks,” Darcy says, looking more than a little surprised, not to mention relieved. “I can’t believe that- Nope, I’m going to take this win and run away with it before you can change your mind.” She matches motion to words, calling over her shoulder, “Keep me informed!”

* * *

“How are things?” Natasha asks.

“Good,” Pepper says, sounding happy, if tired, with an appearance to match. Natasha suddenly envies that with a sharpness that almost hurts. Not that she’s ever had much of a grasp on happiness, but it’d be nice to have something to offset the tiredness she’s felt ever since… Then again, she’s not certain she’d survive the guilt. Clearly Pepper is made of sturdier stuff. Not as many things she has to regret, either. “Hectic. Morgan still doesn’t believe in sleeping through the night. Tony’s more than happy to take care of that, but…”

“But he doesn’t have to take care of Stark Industries through the day as well?”

Pepper shrugs a little. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I’m just glad that with all the innovations Tony has made, I can get away with telecommuting so I only have to go in one day a week. And how are you doing, apart from balancing your chair on its back legs?”

Natasha smiles sharply. “You know me. I like life on the edge.” She pushes a little harder with her feet against the desk they’re resting on, rocking the chair back until she’s balanced just on the cusp between teetering towards equilibrium and falling back uncontrollably.

“That’d be a great headline. Avenger and world’s legendary spy, killed by a broken neck caused by playing around on office furniture.”

“I’d never live it down.”

A baby’s cry starts up somewhere in the background. Pepper’s head jerks automatically in that direction and Natasha says, “Feel free to go tend to matters. This isn’t anything urgent.”

Pepper’s lips compress as she considers, but before she can make a decision, there’s a muffled call that sounds like Tony and Pepper shakes her head. “Thanks, dear,” she calls offscreen before focussing back on Natasha. “I think it’s being handled. But just in case, what did you want?”

“Tony used to handle…” Natasha tilts her head and corrects, “Used to delegate handling maintenance matters and suchlike for the Avengers compound, and it’s been brought to my attention that quite a bit of that has fallen through since everything happened.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “And naturally he didn’t get it handled through me,” she says. “Okay, not a problem. I’ll have a facilities manager out there in a few days and they’ll get everything sorted out.”

It makes sense, Natasha has to admit. Someone has actual experience at doing this kind of thing, someone with ties to Stark Industries who knows their suppliers and sub-companies already, but… “We’ve got someone who’s handling the managing already,” she finds herself saying. “I was more hoping to use your contacts to arrange cleared suppliers and crew.”

“Oh,” Pepper says, sounding a little surprised. Not unwarrantedly so, Natasha has to admit. But also a little pleased. “Well done. Have them email my assistant, and I’ll get them sorted.”

“Thanks, Pepper,” Natasha says, smiling as there’s another call from Tony off screen, this time sounding a little panicked.

“Time to go put out another fire,” Pepper says in a resigned but fond tone, getting up as she reaches towards the screen and it abruptly flickers off.

Natasha stretches and narrowly avoids sending herself pitching backwards. Time to give Darcy the good news.

* * *

Natasha leans back in her chair and stretches, rubbing the back of her neck. She’s been going over reports looking for red flags for so long that her vision’s starting to blur. Being an analyst has never been where her strengths lay, but, well, someone has to identify the threat before it can be dealt with. The War Dogs are all well and good, but there are areas of specialty they just don’t have and Natasha is the nearest to an expert she has access to any more.

And Darcy’s training in sorting incoming data for relevance has been… progressing so far. She’s quick, intelligent, good at spotting patterns, but there’s a certain feel that only comes with experience.

“Hey,” Darcy says, popping her head into Natasha’s office as if summoned by her thoughts. “I’m planning on cooking casserole for dinner tonight, okay?”

It’s… she can’t complain about the new variety in their diet, even if it’s not something she really needs. She should be grateful that Darcy is doing her part in looking after them. Maybe she even is grateful. “Want some help with prep?” she asks before she can think twice about the offer.

“Um,” Darcy hesitates, clearly thrown. “Sure? Sure. I mean, if you think the kitchen won’t spontaneously explode if you take a step into it.”

Natasha shoots her a withering look, but clearly Darcy has already been spending too much time around her, because she just grins, and Natasha feels the side of her mouth twitchy in response.

“I’m hilarious, aren’t I?” Darcy says cheerily. “Not to mention arriving here like an angel to save you from your sad diet of sandwiches and tinned soup with occasional fresh fruit for flavour.”

Natasha shrugs. “We were surviving. No small feat with Captain Stomach on Legs.”

Darcy snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. I always thought I was a bit of a feeder until I started cooking for you two. Never seen food disappear so quickly. Even Thor’s not quite that bad.”

“You should see what happens when you have Bruce, Steve and Thor all in one place, then.”

“I’d really rather not,” Darcy says, giving an exaggerated shudder. “How did you handle it?”

“I think Tony might have had emergency cooks on call at one point when we were all in the tower.” Before the Avengers fell apart the first time. The thought steals the humour that Darcy had managed to lull her into.

Darcy doesn’t appear to notice the change in her mood. “I guess that’s one way to handle it, if you’ve got more money than sense.”

Natasha presses her lips into something resembling a smile. “Says the person who quite happily interned for a scientist for over two years with absolutely no pay.”

Darcy laughs and, god, it’s been far too long since Natasha has managed to do anything resembling that. Not that she deserves to be able to, she reminds herself. But it’s… good that Darcy still has that. That Natasha can help her have that, a least for a while. “Ouch. A hit, a palpable hit, Ms Romanoff. Yeah, I have parents happy and rich enough to fund me until I settled down to get a proper job. Though I don’t think they were exactly expecting the career I ended up in. They keep on suggesting senators and representatives I could start working for if I ‘decide to get serious about my future’.” She makes a face. “I haven’t told them where I’m working at the moment. I’m not sure whether I’d get a lecture about how being associated with the Avengers could hurt my future career… or whether they’d encourage me because it might look good on my resume.”

The smile comes more naturally this time as Natasha nudges her. “So we’ve got a future political superstar in our midst. Maybe I should cozy up to you for future favours.”

Darcy’s eyes widen for a second and there’s a slight blush on her cheeks as they arrive at the kitchen. “Um, you really don’t have to. I mean, fairly sure that I’m in your court already, so…” She shrugs. “Wasted effort?”

Natasha’s stomach twists in an unpleasant way. It’s hardly as though she minds being eye candy — has found it useful more times than she can count — but this, now, a coworker, someone who lives in the compound with her…

How had she missed this before? She’s usually so aware of the currents of attraction as they surround her. Has she really become so blind to that side of things?

She doesn’t have time for this. If it becomes a problem, she’ll deal with it. It’s probably just a case of Darcy being starstruck, anyway. Something that’ll soon fade as she becomes more used to the bitter, cynical burnout that Natasha actually is, rather than whatever picture Darcy has in her head.

It doesn’t really matter. Natasha’s never had much time for attraction, and certainly doesn’t now.

But she knows how she would have acted before, what would have been normal for her once. And… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have some fun, just a little. “Wasted effort?” she echoes. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

Darcy’s blush returns, more intensely, and she looks rather disgruntled at that fact. Even now, Natasha can’t help finding her expression a little cute, like a small woodland creature that’s been poked with a stick. “Yes, well. At the moment I’m mostly your cook, so if you don’t want any ‘special’ additions to your meal…”

Natasha smiles slightly and holds up a hand. “I surrender.”

Darcy waves a finger at her. “You better, missy.” She then bustles over to the cupboards, retrieving various vegetables and placing them on the table. “You’re good with chopping, right? I’m fairly sure all that super spy training means that you have to be good with knives.”

“It’s… not quite the same, but sure. I’ll chop.” She takes a breath, and gives Darcy a peace offering. “And I’m sure you can laugh at me whilst I do so.”

“I would never laugh at the fearsome Black Widow,” Darcy says, but her dancing eyes tell a different story.

It’s really not the same, but she has enough of a handle on the basics that she can still get the chopping done in relatively good time. And, somehow, Darcy manages to draw her into more conversation that doesn’t feel too painful, too much like faking. Like she’s slipping into a role she’s long practised to the point of being able to perform it unconsciously. Only it isn’t, not really. Maybe it’s a bit like her social persona when she was at SHIELD, a bit like the friend persona she has around Steve, but not quite.

It feels different, even if she can’t put her finger down on it precisely.

The conversation itself isn’t about anything serious, thankfully, nothing really to do with the last several months at all. Mostly about Darcy’s life, at high school, at college and working for Jane Foster. Natasha occasionally chips in with something of her own. Again, nothing heavy, which means it’s mostly false, but if Darcy is enough of a Black Widow fangirl to know differently, she doesn’t let on.

No, she thinks in a spare moment when Darcy is telling her about this prank at college that got out of hand involving a dog, five toilet rolls and a dozen lemons, she’s fairly sure that Darcy isn’t that kind of fangirl at all.

Thank god.

* * *

“What are you still doing up?” Darcy asks from the entrance to Natasha’s office.

Natasha had heard her coming of course. Even at her best, Darcy still sounds like a herd of elephants even compared to Steve, and Darcy... is not sounding at her best at the moment. Though the click-click-click of heels would have betrayed her regardless.

Natasha looks up from the email she’s in the middle of composing and confirms that, yes, Darcy is swaying slightly in the doorway, propping herself up against the frame, hair a messy halo around her head, lipstick mussed, short dress and heels a definite clue as to what she’s been doing with the evening.

She can practically hear Steve chiding her that different people are reacting in different ways, but there’s still a core of her that can’t help disapproving. She doesn’t let that show, though. “Work,” she says, and, okay, she didn’t mean to make that as snippy as it sounded. “Enjoy yourself?”

Darcy either fails to notice her tone or allows herself to be distracted. Natasha’s fairly sure the former. “Eh,” she says, waving a hand in the air. “It was alright I guess. Anyway,” she says, waving a finger accusingly at Natasha. “No more trying to distract me. It’s one o’clock in the morning, missy, which means you should be in bed.”

“There are still things I need to do,” Natasha says firmly.

“Really?” Darcy says, sounding intensely sceptical. “Are you honestly saying that there’s nothing that you can’t run tomorrow mor-” She stops and for a moment there’s a crack in her bouncy exterior, a brief glimpse at an unhealed raw grief. For a moment, Natasha wonders if she’s going to have to try and do something she really isn’t trained for. But then it’s gone, and with a wag of her finger, Darcy continues as though nothing had happened. “Are you really saying that there’s nothing that can’t wait until the morning?”

Natasha considers, carefully. Her first instinct is to tell Darcy to shove off. Her second instinct too, really. If she barely tolerates mothering from Steve, she doesn’t see why she should even consider it from this virtual intruder. But… ugh. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to try and get some sleep before she collapses over a table for once. Even if she doubts that it’ll work. And there’s still that crack, even though it’s barely perceptible now. She definitely doesn’t want an argument that might provoke anything at this time of night. “I guess not,” she says, rising gracefully to her feet. “You win, Ms Lewis.”

“Yes!” Darcy says, pumping the air with the arm she had been using to prop herself up… and promptly loses her balance, pinwheeling her arms as she overbalances backwards.

Natasha manages to find time to roll her eyes as she springs forwards and catches Darcy by one wrist before she can topple over completely, pulling her towards Natasha. A bit too much, maybe, as Darcy falls forward, slumping into Natasha’s chest. Up close Darcy smells of her perfume, applied more liberally than usual and alcohol, with undertones of fresh sweat and the musk of recent sex.

As if Natasha had needed any confirmation of what she’d recently been up to.

“Mmmm… boobs,” Darcy murmurs into Natasha’s chest before she tenses, jerking away, face flushed, and almost falling over again before Natasha steadied her again. “Ugh… sorry,” she mumbles.

“It’s hardly the first time someone’s done that,” Natasha says and redirects. “Why don’t we take off your heels and see about getting you back to your room.”

For a moment, Darcy looks mutinous before relaxing and then — swaying but remaining upright under her own power — making her way over to the chair Natasha had recently vacated. She slips off her heels with surprising ease. “Maybe,” she says, “That was a sensible idea. But I could have made it back in them. I got this far, after all.”

“True,” Natasha says, no stranger to heels in less than ideal conditions herself. “But it’s easier this way, isn’t it?”

Darcy makes a face and mutters to herself. “And don’t think that this means I’ve forgotten about getting you to bed either.”

“I wouldn’t dare to assume that.”

“Good,” she says, satisfied.

Darcy’s room reflects her personality — loud and unabashedly full of her character. On the walls, there’re photos that have obviously been printed out and shoved into inexpensive frames and a couple of cheap band posters that look new enough that she probably got them since she moved in. Various containers of makeup spill over half the desk, a charging laptop on top of some scrunched up t-shirts on the over half. Clothes spill out of the wardrobe and are shoved into a corner in what looked like some kind of makeshift laundry hamper. It’s the room of someone who’s moved in recently but has spent absolutely no time before making this place her own.

With a warning finger Darcy closes the door behind her and Natasha’s left looking at the grain of the wood. She doesn’t feel anywhere near tired enough to fall asleep just yet, but…

Fine, she’ll try it. If only to stop the nagging that’s sure to ensue tomorrow morning if she doesn’t. After years with Dr Foster, Darcy is apparently adept in handling recalcitrant principals. And, quite frankly, Natasha has other things she needs to spend her energy on.

Natasha’s room is nothing like Darcy’s. It’s empty of anything that isn’t purely practical, all clothes neatly packed away in cupboards and drawers apart from a few stored in a go bag in case of emergencies. It’s flavourless, personalityless. Natasha has lost far too many homes to consider this room anything other than temporary. Especially this compound, of all places. She’s not going to get fooled like that again.

She quickly strips, turns the light off, lays in the bed and stares up into the darkness, waiting for sleep to come.

* * *

Natasha ducks under Steve’s fist as it flashes towards her chest, lashing a foot out towards his shin. He dances nimbly back and his counterpunch puts her in bad enough position that his next cross manages to tag her. Still, she manages to grab his wrist before he can get it out of reach and almost — almost — manages to flip him, so she can’t consider it a complete loss.

Their match goes back and forth like this for about another five minutes. Steve’s a tough opponent, even when he’s not using his full strength and mostly restricting himself to a single style. But he makes for a great workout, especially with him changing things up every time they spar.

Today, for instance, was mostly boxing and annoyingly he managed to make it work far too well.

Just as well he’s such a Swiss army knife of martial art styles, given he’s pretty much her only way of maintaining her edge these days, apart from when one of the remaining Avengers is around and feels like helping out.

Of course, there is one unusual thing about today’s match — they have an observer.

“Darcy,” Steve calls out, waving at her cheerily. “How can we help you?”

“Um,” Darcy says helpfully, her gaze focussed anywhere but on them, before finally coming back to rest on Steve. “So… this is a thing you do?” She’s looking a little worse for wear this morning, bags under her eyes that are a little more red than usual, hair still disheveled, clothes that look like they’ve been pulled on in a hurry.

“Every day,” Steve says. “It’s the most regular thing about this one’s day,” he says, hooking a thumb towards Natasha. 

Darcy glances towards Natasha briefly, colouring slightly before looking back at Steve. “How did I not know about this?” Darcy says, sounding personally offended.

“Possibly because we do it before nine in the morning and therefore it might as well not exist to you?” Natasha offers.

“Hey!” Darcy objects, before shrugging. “Okay, that’s fair. I’m so glad you don’t expect me to work normal office hours.”

“Want to join us?” Steve offers, giving her a friendly smile. “It’s never too early to start regular cardiovascular exercise, and it can’t hurt to know a few moves, just in case.”

Darcy freezes, wide-eyed, and Natasha decides to rescue her. Darcy can always sign up for the Steve Rogers healthy living plan later if she so chooses. “You had something for me?” she guesses.

Darcy blinks and looks at her, spell broken. This time without any sign of discomfort at least. “Ah, yes? A Dr Helen Cho had something she wanted to discuss with you?”

“Ah, I’ll just get cleaned up, shall I? Leave you two to business?” Steve says.

Natasha glowers after him briefly. He likes to think that he’s cute, but he isn’t.

Apparently unruffled by the threat of her wrath — something she’ll have to rectify later — he just gives them a cheery wave and heads off in the direction of the showers.

When she looks back, Darcy’s cheeks are flushed again, eyes focussed towards her feet.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Natasha asks, a hand indicating her general composure, or lack thereof.

“What? No!” Darcy says, covering her cheeks with her hands, then groans, studying her feet. “It’s just… Ugh. I can’t believe I talked about your tits last night.” She looks up hopefully. “Or was that a dream? Tell me I just imagined saying that.

“Well you certainly said it now,” Natasha says, unable to help being a little amused at her distress.

Darcy groans.

“You also said it last night,” Natasha confirms mercilessly and is rewarded with a loud groan.

“I’m really sorry,” Darcy says. “I was so drunk and I should never have commented on the quality of your assets. Please don’t ninja kill me, or whatever it is you do when some icky coworker sexually harasses you.”

“If I ‘ninja-killed’ every coworker who had made inappropriate comments about me, SHIELD would have been half empty well before HYDRA activated.” She tilts her head. “I’d say so would the people who raised and trained me, but honestly, they’d probably be a bad example in this particular case. They did do a little more than just a drunken comment which you then apologised for, though.”

Darcy looks at her mute and wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” Natasha says sweetly. “Did I discombobulate you?”

“I really can’t tell when you’re joking or not.”

“Oh,” Natasha says, completely deadpan. “I never joke. It’s in my file.”

“Ugh. The SHIELD dump? Way too much detail and way too long for my tastes. The only thing I know is what I’ve read on Buzzfeed and Tumblr, and who knows how much of that is accurate? Besides,” she says a little uncomfortably. “Quite a bit of that kind of stuff, especially about the Avengers, just seemed too personal, you know?”

Natasha does, and doesn’t. Secrets were a luxury she just didn’t have growing up. Anything she shared, or even let slip when she was by herself, was potentially out there, for anyone to use against her. Once she’d escaped the Red Room, she’d had a little privacy, even if she’d never quite believed it. And SHIELD… well, in some ways, Fury’s affect of omniscience had been comforting in its way. And post SHIELD… well, now everyone does know everything. It’s a brave new world.

So she just shrugs and smiles. “Read whatever you want. It really doesn’t matter.”

Darcy stares at her assessingly for a minute, but giving a shrug of her own. “Nah. I’m good.”

Which, fine. It’s not like Natasha cares one way or another.

“So, planning on taking Steve up on his offer?” Natasha says, instinctively going for lightening the mood a little. “If you time your session well, you could watch my practices with him before. You know, for ‘education’.” She smirks at Darcy.

Darcy groans. “Wow, I can see this getting old fast. I dunno. Do you think he can improve on my already awesome taser skills?”

Natasha considers. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“Really? Because it looked like it would hurt. A lot.”

Natasha has to crack a smile. “Well, you’re not wrong. It will hurt, at least at first. Just not as much as the alternative.”

Darcy groans louder. “You’re probably right. Fine, I’ll do it. Just for you. And because I’m working at this crazy place.”

“I’ll leave you to contemplate that in peace. Can you let Helen know I’ll contact her in about fifteen minutes?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Darcy says, and Natasha saunters off to the showers after Steve.

* * *

“If that’s all?” Natasha says, looking around at the various holoscreens. No one indicates that they have anything further to say. “Speak to you soon.”

“Okay,” Darcy says, ducking in shortly afterward, “I’ve got a few reports that came in while you were on that call. Nothing that serious, but - oh.” She stops, seeing that there is one person still on that call.

“Oho,” Okoye says, looking very much like a lioness who has sighted an extremely plump gazelle grazing right in front of her. “I had wondered about our Natasha’s new organisational efficiency.”

“Darcy Lewis, pleased to meet you. Or at least your hologram.” She glances at Natasha but evidently decides any damage is done, and smile cockily. “Honestly, she didn’t want me here to begin with, but now she’d be lost without me.”

Natasha is the picture of calm. “Think what you will, Ms Lewis. I’m sure I couldn’t stop you.”

“After all the times I offered you Wakanda’s help,” Okoye interjects. “I’m upset that I didn’t get first refusal on supplying you with an assistant.”

Natasha briefly considers whether to take Okoye’s offer and add someone else to their crew at the compound, before deciding no. Not at the moment, at least. Things have already changed too quickly for her liking, she doesn’t need them changing again. And, besides, she’s at least ninety percent sure that Okoye is joking about any offence. “”Blame Rogers for this one. I’ll let you know if another position opens up.”

“See that you do, Ms Romanoff,” Okoye says and Natasha’s suddenly revising that estimate down to seventy percent. “See that you do.”

And, in all honesty, a change in personnel is something she should be able to handle without a second thought. There are times she’s had to adapt faster, more completely. Time she’s been under more pressure, but…

Somehow now is different, and she’s not certain why. Apart from the obvious, but that’s not really an excuse.

It’s not an excuse at all.

She’s even getting more sleep, more proper sleep, more regular sleep these days thanks to Darcy’s mothering.

“I’ll give it some thought,” she says, attempting lightness.

Okoye nods, seeming to accept her statement at least for the moment, and turn her attention to Darcy. “As for you, Ms Lewis, the fact that you manage to handle this one makes you even more impressive than I had heard. If there’s anything Wakanda can do to ease your burden, please let me know.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at the unsubtle aside aimed directly at her, but Darcy blinks, seemingly thrown a little. “I… will,” she says, before glancing in Natasha’s direction. “Assuming the boss allows me, of course. But she didn’t mind me contacting some of my old buddies who used to work at SHIELD for advice, as long as she cleared them first, so I can’t imagine that I’ll have to plead too much harder for this.”

And, okay, having Darcy as a buffer makes the whole thing seem a lot more handleable. “As you can see, my position as head of the Avengers is tentative at best,” she says dryly. “But I like to think I can manage to enforce some kind of decorum in people who are allegedly working for me. Even Darcy.”

“Cool,” Darcy says, apparently taking her statement as permission. “I’ll contact you later, then,” she says, and finally, finally leaves.

Okoye looks far too amused for Natasha’s well being. “Ah, good. I’ll know who to contact when I want things done,” she says and breaks contact before Natasha can come up with a rejoinder.

Well, that went better than it could have done, Natasha supposes.

Yay?

* * *

“Thank you for your time, Minister,” Natasha says, polite smile in place, before cutting the connection and sighing, rubbing her eyes. Today France, tomorrow Argentina, assuming nothing else goes wrong. There’s definitely way much more international diplomacy now than there was back in the old days. Not that it’s a bad thing exactly — at least everyone who is still acknowledging the Avengers is now on board with preventing out of context problems with far less complaining — but it’d be nice if the niggling feeling in the back of her head that she’s just not the right person to do this would clear up any time ever.

Still, it isn’t as though there’s anyone else.

She stretches, then pushes herself up and looks outside the window. It’s dark outside and given that Darcy isn’t hovering around, that probably means whatever she’s supposed to have for dinner will be waiting in the canteen.

Her footsteps echo through the halls as she walks in that direction, same as they did before Darcy entered their lives, but it seems different now, somehow. It’s not that different, she chides herself, despite a fifty percent increase in semi-permanent occupancy.

It’s probably just that everything is up and running properly for the first time since Steve and Natasha returned after the great exile. And it’s certainly nice that there’s less dust in the out of the way places in the compound.

There’s something about the kitchen area that has her on edge even before she gets there, but it isn’t until she’s in sight of it that she can identify exactly what the problem is. The kitchen has been used — ingredients out on the side, filled pots on the stove, the oven with something clearly within — but nothing’s completed, the power is off and Darcy’s nowhere to be seen.

“Friday, is there an emergency?” she asks the compound.

“No, I don’t believe so,” comes the electronic response, just a little too slow and together with the specific wording…

“Can you tell me where Darcy Lewis is?” she asks, but she’s already in motion. Friday isn’t sure that there isn’t an emergency, or at least needed a little processing time to make sure. Or that there’s something wrong that she isn’t sure that Natasha has a right to know.

Natasha is quite capable of making her own decisions there.

Friday doesn’t give an answer, further lending credence to the latter theory.

The nearest toilets are the first stop, in case of accident or sickness, but they prove to be empty. Passing a hand over the pots on the stove before dipping a spoon in and cautiously testing the temperature — it’s still warm, but not hot, so it probably hasn’t been that long. Probably short enough that Natasha would have heard something on the way here if Darcy had retreated to her room.

On the one hand, Natasha is fully aware that she’s being a little ridiculous with all this detective work. If it was something truly important, Friday would tell her, or at least tell her where Darcy is. On the other… Natasha can’t help but feel an unpleasant squeeze to her insides and she is having to keep her breathing completely regular.

Honestly, her reaction actually is completely ridiculous, but just her awareness of that fact is insufficient to still it.

Next most likely options -- if Darcy wanted somewhere private and close, there are some lockable conference rooms relatively nearby. And the third one she tries is indeed locked.

“Hang on,” Darcy calls out from within, and her voice is absolutely wrecked.

Natasha finds her feet already walking away from the door even before thought can set in. Nobody wants their weaknesses dragged out in front of others like this. The fact that Darcy hid herself and locked the door is proof enough of that.

Something drags inside of her though, slowing and then stopping her footsteps, and she’s not sure why. “Would you like me to stick around?” she whispers and then turning back and going back to the door, she repeats it, louder.

For a long minute there’s silence and Natasha takes it for answer enough and starts to turn away again when there’s a murmur from within.

“What’s that?” Natasha says as gently as she can.

“Okay,” Darcy repeats and the door lock clicks open.

Darcy’s face is red and blotchy, streaked with tears, but she still tries for a smile. “Sorry,” she croaks. “Just having a moment here.”

Natasha feels awkward, off balance. It’s hardly as though she doesn’t know how to handle crying people. Of course that’s generally in the line of exploiting them, but, well…

That’s hardly the point at the moment.

She does what she’d do in the course of a mission, reaches out to Darcy, gently touching her on the arm. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s sit down. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Darcy’s mouth twitches — she clearly does want to talk — but she does follow Natasha’s instruction, taking a seat at the table. Natasha follows suit, taking a chair close enough to reach Darcy if she wants, far enough away so she shouldn’t feel crowded, body language open, inviting confidence.

What would Steve say? “You don’t have anything to apologise for,” she tries.

Darcy’s smile is a broken thing. ‘It’s ridiculous,” she says. “I’ve been so lucky. I may have lost my best friend, but a little less than half my friends in general, and I still have both of my parents. And I know I’m doing important work here, even if I’m not exactly part of the biff, pow crowd. It’s just… I looked at the date, and I realised it’s only a few weeks away from the nine month anniversary and I just…” She shakes her head and starts to get up. “I’m sorry, I should be making dinner.”

Natasha rests her hand on Darcy’s. It seems like the right thing to do. “It’ll wait. Or I can just make us sandwiches.” She twists her mouth. “It’s something of a specialty.”

Darcy starts laughing, turning a little hysterical before bursting into tears again. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry.” She collapses towards Natasha, who awkwardly takes her in her arms.

It seems to help, a little.

There’s a part of Natasha that envies Darcy’s ability to do this, truly cry. Turn the tears on for a role, sure. Actually achieve the release that other people seem to find in it, no.

Honestly, she’s a little lost about what to do when she isn’t trying to manipulate someone.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for,” she murmurs. Darcy doesn’t. After all, she wasn’t the person who fucked up, got all those people killed. She moves closer so Darcy’s head can rest on her shoulder, so she can try and offer what comfort she can.

It seems the only right thing to do.

* * *

“How’s it going?” Natasha asks, walking into the gym to see Steve holding up a mitt as Darcy flails at it.

Darcy, rosy cheeked, hair clumpy with sweat, takes the opportunity to flop backwards onto the floor dramatically with a groan.

“You seem to be doing well with falls at least,” Natasha notes.

Darcy gives her a thumbs up and then a fervent “Thank you,” when Natasha rolls a chilled water bottle towards her.

“Got one of those for me?” Steve asks, looking basically untouched not to mention amused.

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “And why would I do something like that?” she says, taking an ostentatious sip from the other water bottle she’d brought down with her.

“Ouch, Natasha,” he says, giving a single laugh before subsiding. “It’s always good to know how highly you value me.”

She rolls her eyes and tosses him the bottle. “Fine. If you’re going to be like that about it.” She pauses, her eyes flicking towards Darcy before returning to Steve. “Can I have a quick word with you?”

“Sounds good to me!” Darcy says, pushing herself up from the ground with a grunt of effort. “I’m fairly sure that I’m done for the day.” She starts making her way in the direction of the showers.

“Remember to warm down!” Steve calls after her, then turns back towards Natasha. “What can I do for you?”

Natasha waits until she’s sure that Darcy is out of earshot. “How’s she doing?”

“Well, her form is still fairly basic, but she doesn’t have a problem expressing her aggression, which is always a good first step.”

Natasha glares at him.

He shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not going to share anything she’s told me in confidence — if anything — but… she seems to be doing pretty much as well as anyone is, give or take. As far as I know, of course.”

“So she’s a part of one of your little support groups?”

“You know I can’t…” He stops and sighs when Natasha gives him a hard look. “No, she isn’t. Happy?”

“Not really. But just… let her know that she’s welcome, if she wants.” She smirks a little. “Just in case she’s intimidated by the great Captain America or something.”

“Ha. Have you even met Darcy?” he says wryly. “And, just so you know, you’re always welcome too,” he says with more sincerity than she feels is entirely warranted.

Conversation over, Natasha turns to leave. “Me?” she calls from over her shoulder. “I’m fine. I’m always fine. More worried about you, Rogers.” After all, he’d been far closer to the people he’d lost. And her?

She’s used to it.

* * *

“I say we snipe her,” rasps Nebula. “One clean shot removes her brain, removes the problem.”

“Eh,” Rocket says. “I don’t know what she cobbled that device together out of on this backwater planet, but I don’t like the look of those energy readings. Probably enough to level this whole complex with energy to spare. And I can’t be sure that she hasn’t got a dead man’s switch.”

In some ways, it’s nice working with Nebula and Rocket, on the rare occasions that there’s little enough going on that they can afford to concentrate their forces like this. Or when it’s urgent enough, but that tends to be less nice and more frantic. The mix of attitudes reminds her of a SHIELD team, generally in a good way.

“Let’s go for a mixed approach,” she decides. “The target hasn’t set off the device yet, for whatever reason, so hopefully I can distract her for a bit longer whilst Rocket sneaks in from the back and deactivates it. Nebula stays on overwatch from the upper level, ready to take her out if the situation calls for it. Sound good?”

“Not overly fond of the idea of getting close enough to tinker around with whatever this is — no offence, but you humans aren’t really good with the high energy stuff in my experience, Stark being an exception — but I guess if she’s going to be in the blast radius,” he says, hooking a thumb in Nebula’s direction, “I better make sure that it’s done properly.”

Nebula slings a rifle over her shoulder. “Just so long as I don’t have to do any talking,” she says, moving off before she can get a response.

Natasha waits a few minutes to give Nebula time to get into position before entering the bottom floor of the mall. “I’m coming in to talk,” she shouts, trying to make sure she doesn’t surprise the bomber, the woman, as she does so.

This section of the mall is deserted, eerily so. Half-full baskets lay scattered in a book store, odd trainers in the middle of being tried on ring a seat in the shoe store, a half-eaten meal is abandoned on a bench.

Everyone who could be evacuated, has been, even before they got here, to this college town left half dead in the aftermath of the Snap.

She walks into view of the central food court, and it’s as described. The fountain in the middle of the plaza has panels that have been removed, revealing machinery glowing bright blue, just a few shades off of the colour of Tony’s ARC reactors. A crowd of scared people, still seated where they had been when all of this started, apparently too frightened to move. And a wild eyed woman in a cardigan and slacks who pauses from pacing furiously as she spots Natasha coming around the corner.

Well, Natasha thinks, as the woman brandishes something that looks like a high tech tv clicker at her, she certainly has the woman’s attention.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rocket squeeze out of a vent and start stealthily scuttling towards the fountain. If any of the hostages spot him, they don’t make any indication.

“Is there anything we can do to make sure this all ends peacefully?” she calls over. “Professor Rush, right?”

“Ha!” Rush shouts back. “Peacefully? How can anything end peacefully ever now? How about you ask those people over there if they think things are peaceful now, after all the people they’ve already lost? Maybe I’d be helping them, putting them out of their misery.”

Some of her hostages who weren’t already crying, start again. Men and women shaking, trying to hold the noise in. A loud wailing starts up, quickly followed by others as younger children aren’t so restrained.

Natasha starts stepping cautiously closer to Rush so she can speak in a more normal tone with her, ready to stop if Rush shows signs of tensing. Maybe a little more risky, sure, but if Rocket’s right, it really doesn’t matter.

“Stop there!” Rush says when Natasha’s about twenty feet away. Natasha complies, raising her hands in surrender, happy to give Rush as much of the illusion of control as possible. For the moment, of course.

“Peacefully? Like the people you’ve lost?” she asks as gently as she can across the distance and the noise, circling back to Rush’s previous statement. She’s the sole survivor out of a family of four. Like a quarter of all such families, though Natasha imagines that is scant comfort to her. 

“That-“ Rush starts, then slumps her shoulders. “Maybe. Yes. But that’s the point. Half of all people were taken… Maybe if I create an event with a similar signature…” She looks earnestly up at Natasha. “Maybe I could swap some of us for them.” She swallows desperately. “That’d be worth it, right? I just need to… My family were here when it happened, so…?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Natasha says softly. “The person who did all this is dead and gone, and the means to change any of it destroyed.”

Pain and desperation turn to anger. “And if you’d done your job correctly, then Thanos wouldn’t have had a chance to do this in the first place!”

Natasha can’t find the words to answer her. It’s not as though she’s exactly wrong.

“Okay,” Rocket’s voice comes over the comm. “Have disabled Professor More-Explosions-Will-Definitely-Bring-People-Back’s dead woman’s switch but, eh, she can still trigger it manually.”

“Shall I take the shot?” Nebula asks.

She knows what Steve would do. He’d doubtless give an inspirational speech, talk Rush down, be able to solve the situation without further bloodshed.

Natasha honestly thinks that Rush doesn’t want to kill anyone, that there’s a good reason she hasn’t pulled the trigger yet, has only been driven here out of a desperation that Natasha can understand only too well. And if it was just Natasha here… she’d definitely take the risk. There might even be a part of her that’d be willing to take the gamble, see if they could swap the two of them for two others, maybe people who more deserve a second chance.

But it isn’t just her. There are dozens of other people here, and all Natasha can do is what she does best. Ink another red name in her ledger.

She nods. Rush dies.

* * *

“Hi!” Darcy chirps as Natasha, Nebula and Rocket walk into the main annex of compound. “I don’t think we’ve met. Darcy Lewis, pleased to meet you.”

Nebula completely freezes her out, walking past Darcy and towards the isolated room in the compound she’s claimed as her own.

“So, she’s the new permanent addition that Rogers has been telling us about,” Rocket says, then looks at her. “Huh. She’s cheerier than the rest of you lot. I can see that getting old fast.”

“Hey!” Darcy says, moving closer so she can loom over Rocket a little. “‘She’ doesn’t appreciate being referred to in the third person when she’s right there, asshole.”

Rocket cracks a smile. “Okay, I can see you’re going to do just fine around here, sweet cheeks.” He pats her on the kneecap and heads off in the direction of his room.

Darcy stands there stunned for a moment before swivelling around to give Rocket’s back a deadly glare. “Sweet cheeks?” she screeches. “Did a still walking fur cap just call me sweet cheeks? And I mean walking for the moment.”

Rocket cackles and continues sauntering off as Darcy fumes.

“You can get your own damn dinner, mister,” she calls after him, then turns around to look at Natasha. “Hey, so how are you doing? Apart from having to fly with team insufferable there.”

Natasha shrugs. “Fine. The threat got handled. No super science bombs were set off.” And only one casualty suffered. “You?”

Darcy wrinkles her nose, which sadly serves mostly to make her look cute. “Lots of paperwork. More reports came in that I’ve sorted through and added summaries to the spreadsheet. Nothing that seemed particularly time critical.” She pauses for a moment. “You think Nebula and Rocket will want to eat soon? It’s just that I was thinking about going clubbing tonight, but I won’t if they going to want to eat later.”

There’s something that moves Natasha to say, “Mind some company?” before she can think better of it. That kind of thing has never been the kind of thing she’s indulged in for her own sake, only ever as part of a mission. Maybe it’s an ill-judged attempt to connect with humanity after the days events. Maybe there’s still some part of her that remembers Darcy’s tear streaked face last week, Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to dwell on Rush’s desperate, tired face for at least tonight.

Maybe it just doesn’t matter.

Darcy stares at her for a moment, mouth working with the questions she obviously wants to ask. Thankfully she doesn’t and just shrugs. “Sure, you can tag along. Got anything to wear?”

“I’m told that I can work a tight top and jeans.”

Darcy looks distant briefly before clearing her throat. “Yeah, I can believe that. I’ll come collect you when I’m ready to leave. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

* * *

As Natasha enters the club, she’s met with an almost physical wall of sound, the stench of sweat and cheap alcohol so thick she can almost taste as well as smell it and a darkness only occasionally lit by flashes of various colours.

It’s obviously a place for people who want to do anything other than think.

Darcy mouths “Dance?”

Natasha, not quite sure what exactly she wants to do, but wanting to gather her bearings before she makes a decision, shakes her head.

Darcy shrugs, obviously a little relieved, and mouths a “See you later” before disappearing into the writhing crowd on the dance floor. 

The bar’s a good enough place to start. She orders vodka, and sits on a barstool people watching for a bit as she drinks. The American stuff may be complete shit, but there’s something comforting about the classics.

Although much of the bar is crowded with people briefly detouring here from the dance floor before heading back again, there’s a sizeable core that have positioned themselves on stools and appear to be mostly focussed on drinking themselves to insensibility as quickly and efficiently as possible. Amongst the dancers, there are those that seem to be here just to let the music and movement carry them away, either by themselves or in groups. Some, by their body language, are here to be social, others just seem like their hearts aren’t into it. And there’s some that appear to be using the morass as a mating ritual, finding someone to grind against or make out with, often as a prelude before disappearing into the back.

Natasha can hardly judge any of the groups here. There are certainly less healthy methods of coping.

But everywhere, underlying everything, is a barely concealed air of desperation and sorrow and Natasha can’t help considering that maybe she chose the wrong activity to indulge in tonight of all times.

It’s at that melancholic point, after her third shot and just before she orders her fourth, that she spots Darcy grinding up against a guy almost twice her size.

And… fuck it, she thinks as she springs to her feet. It’s not like she didn’t know what kind of things Darcy gets up to here, and what Natasha’s doing at the moment certainly isn’t working for her, so…

Fuck it.

Viewing the crowded dance floor as a chessboard, slipping effortlessly between moving people, is a kind of zen. It’s the most natural thing she’s experienced since she got here; a kind of trance that she hasn’t felt for a good time before that, truth be told. She barely glances against even a single other body before she’s standing in front of Darcy, who barely gives her an unrecognising look before pressing up against her, and Natasha can feel hot flesh even through her jeans.

This… is wrong, she thinks muzzily. She should at least make sure that Darcy knows who she’s doing this with.

But then Darcy’s hand lights up her breast, and she’s gone, lost in an animal instinct that she hasn’t let herself feel in far too long, maybe ever. Maybe something that the end of the world would have to come and go before she’d let herself experience.

There’s heat and touching and being touched and tongues and stumbling and a cold surface against her back and then under her knees. The next clear memory is her staring up at Darcy at an angle she can clearly see up her skirt, and Darcy is staring back at her with a horrified look on her face. It’s quieter wherever they are, a back room or maybe an alley and honestly Natasha should be ashamed of herself that she doesn’t know that, but…

“Oh, shit, that was you?” Darcy gasps. “I mean, this is real and not some kind of…. And that is way too much information for me to be talking about right not right here. Please someone shut me up before I say anything-“ She’s cut off by Natasha rising to her feet and closing her mouth with two fingers, after which there’s a muffled ‘thank you’.

“I don’t think there’s anything here we need to worry about,” Natasha says coolly. “We’re both adults. We’re both allowed to have outside activities. So let’s not read too much into this, okay?” Natasha certainly isn’t. This was nothing special, absolutely nothing special at all.

There’s a pause that seems to last forever before Darcy nods slowly. “Yeah. I mean, night of fun. Who cares who was supplying the orgasms.”

“Good,” Natasha says. “Now, enjoy the rest of your night. I fear I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

She leaves as Darcy gives her an awkward wave goodbye.

* * *

The worst thing, the absolutely worst thing about the entire mistake that the night was, is that Natasha has the best night of sleep that she’s had since…

Since she and Steve came back to the compound.

* * *

“Not that I’m complaining, but this is the third day in a row you’ve cooked breakfast for me,” Darcy says before picking up the bacon sandwich and biting into it.

Natasha shrugs. “You shouldn’t have to cook all of the time.”

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining,” Rocket says, crunching on a piece from Natasha’s discards that’s more carbon than meat. “I like all the burned stuff you made before you got it right.”

“Uh, do we have any bacon left?” Darcy asks, eyeing the size of the pile that Rocket takes with him as he wanders out of the canteen. “Because I’m fairly sure that Steve’s going to come in that door fairly soon and wonder where his breakfast is.”

“He’s a big boy,” Natasha says. “He’ll get over it.”

“I’ll let you explain that to him.”

“If he’s really that bothered, he can always jog down to the nearest shop and get some more,” Natasha says dryly.

“What was that?” Steve asks as he comes in, towelling his hair.

“We’re all out of bacon unless you want to track Rocket down for some of the burned stuff,” Darcy says, completely ignoring what she’d just said. “Natasha’s fault.”

Steve’s face takes on a mock injured look. “Romanoff, stab in the back here.” There’s an undercurrent to his expression, though, that she’s going to have to deal with later. But luckily it doesn’t seem like he’s going to push her now. “That’s alright. I was feeling like cereal anyway. Busy day today. I’m continuing my circuit of the local schools, see if there’s anything I can to do to help any of the kids who need to talk.”

“You’re a living saint, Rogers,” Natasha says, aiming for sarcasm, hitting a little more sincerity than she really meant to. She only has a dim idea of what happens at an actual American high school, informed mostly by media, probably darkened a little by her own experiences at that age, but… she can’t imagine that it’s any better these days, even without the vastly increased numbers of orphaned children.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, slurping down his cereal at an incredible rate before getting up, washing his bowl and spoon, drying them, putting them away. “Later, ladies,” he says before disappearing out of the door.

Darcy, who by this point has finished her sandwich, has been playing around with the crumbs awkwardly, looks over at Natasha. “Okay, boss, what’s wrong? Not that I’m complaining, but you cooking food for me? That really isn’t our dynamic. Not that it’s ever too late to learn new skills.” 

Natasha finds that she can’t meet Darcy’s eyes, instead pouring some salt out on the table and making patterns in the grains. “I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t feel pressured that night a few nights back.” She presses her mouth into a smile. “Since I’m your boss and all.”

Darcy lets out a surprised laugh. “I thought we weren’t talking about that.”

“We aren’t.”

“Well, since we aren’t talking about it, I definitely can’t tell you that I had a quality one night hookup a few nights back that I definitely don’t regret, even if it’s never going to happen again.”

And, okay, Natasha feels something loosen inside herself that she hadn’t even been conscious was tight. She looks back up at Darcy and smirks. “So, I guess that means that you’re back on breakfast duty tomorrow.”

“Goddamnit!” Darcy exclaims, but her eyes are dancing. “I knew I should have kept my mouth shut another few days. I was really looking forward to seeing what you tried to do tomorrow. Was thinking of starting a betting pool up with Rocket and everything.”

“So sorry to spoil your fun,” Natasha drawls as she heads out of the canteen. But maybe she’s smiling as well.

* * *

“It’s all fine now,” Natasha tells Steve when she runs into him later. “You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

He studies her for a moment. “Well, fine,” he says, resigned but seemingly not too worried any more. “But if you ever want a friendly ear…”

“I don’t,” she says firmly. “But thanks,” she adds a little grudgingly.

“It’s what I’m here for,” he says, clapping her on the shoulder, and maybe that somehow makes her feel a bit better as well.

* * *

“Have anything that I can help with while I’m here?” Carol says as she touches down, a beacon of light in the twilight sky.

“Nice to see you too,” Natasha says as she shakes Carol’s hand.

“What, you want small talk now? I’m just not sure that’s the kind of relationship we have, Natasha.”

Natasha smiles faintly. “How’s Monica?”

A shadow passes across Carol’s face. “Still missing Maria and everyone else. I wanted to be here for the one year anniversary.”

“It’s going to be rough. Rumour has it that, as well as the home grown problems, some of Thanos’ followers are coming as some kind of pilgrimage.”

“That,” Carol says, flaring one of her fists briefly, “I can deal with. Oh, hey, Darcy,” she says as Darcy makes her way out.

“Hey, Carol,” Darcy says, coming in for a hug that Carol returns, before releasing her and drawing back to get a proper look. “Looking good.”

“Thanks,’ Carol says dryly. “Because I dress purely to impress you.”

Natasha hangs back as the two of them chat with each other, walking back to the main meeting room in the compound. Since practically as soon as Darcy started working for them, Carol has been been more relaxed with her than anyone else in the Avengers. Not that Natasha can exactly blame her — Darcy generally has a far more cheery affect than the rest of them.

“So, you and Natasha seem to be getting along better these days,” Carol remarks.

Darcy chokes. “That’s… I mean, I have been working for her almost six months now, and she is the boss, so I guess that’s just natural?” But she doesn’t quite manage to sound completely blasé about the question, and there’s a part of Natasha that just wants to rush forward and shake her, for all the good that would do now.

“Sure,” Carol says, seemingly happy to let it drop, but there’s a tension inside Natasha that keeps her on edge for the entire meeting that follows, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

* * *

“What did you tell Carol?” Natasha growls when she manages to corner Darcy alone later.

“Nothing!” Darcy yelps, before pushing back. “Hey, how do you know it wasn’t you who let something slip.” She rolls her eyes. “Not that there is anything to let slip,” she recites sarcastically, badly imitating Natasha’s cadence.

“Firstly, I’m not the one who chatters to her over comms about things that aren’t strictly work related. Secondly… we both agreed that there was nothing to speak about.” Not the first time Natasha went clubbing with Darcy, not the times since. Most of which ended with Darcy and Natasha in a back room, fingers buried in each other, mouths hungry.

Darcy’s shoulders slump and the battle goes out of her. “It’s nothing, really. Just that a while ago, I may have let slip that I found you not entirely unattractive. And, apparently, Carol has feelings on the subject, and has been teasing me since. She was messing with me, not you. Sorry if that makes things weird.”

Natasha considers. It isn’t exactly news that Darcy finds her attractive — even aside from club-side activities — and it isn’t as though Natasha’s ever had a problem with that. Her body is meat, a tool crafted part by nature, part by nurture into something that can affect other people, and that’s just a thing she’s long accepted. And, to be completely honest with herself, she’s not entirely sure why the thought of Carol — or anyone really — knowing about what they get up to bothers her so much.

But it does. She can’t deny that.

“Look,” Darcy says, “She probably just thought that I stuttered because she was alluding to my… views in front of you, nothing else. I mean, god knows I can’t read you. I doubt she can.”

Which, fine. Seems like a good premise to work from. And if Carol does suspect anything, reacting in any way would only confirm matters. Just like the times the girls shared secrets in the Red Room. “Sure,” she says. “Let’s go with that. And don’t worry about making things weird,” she says and smiles wickedly at Darcy. “I already know you think I’m hot. Trust me, you don’t have my skills at hiding your feelings.”

And she’s away before Darcy, red faced, can muster a response.

* * *

There’s a thump and a boom far too close for comfort, momentarily drowning out the cries of terrified people. Shards of concrete from the explosion sting Natasha’s face as the grip of her pistol kicks back in her hand as she fires shots into the head of an alien warrior. The sharp smell of cordite mixes in her nostrils together with ozone from alien weaponry and the coppery smell of blood.

Up above, Carol flashes through the sky like a comet, explosions from the ships of Thanos’ cultists trailing in her wake… but not quickly enough as more land. Another Wakandan military squad flies in nearby to start engaging the enemy house to house.

Natasha rolls under a blast, curses as her gun clicks empty, grabs a discarded alien weapon and shoots the enemy dead with a crackle blast. There’s a lull in the immediate combat, so over the comms she asks “How’s everyone doing?”

“Kinda wishing these idiots had stayed at home instead of coming to visit. Getting a little hard to cover blue’s ass here,” Rocket grumbles.

“Making sure that we don’t have to deal with any of them this time next year,” Okoye returns. “Minimal casualties amongst my troops so far.”

“Nowhere close to running out of targets just yet. These guys have been causing problems all over the sector.”

There’s a crunch-crunch-crunch of approaching hostile footsteps and Natasha has never wished for Steve’s steady presence more, especially when she sees the big scared eyes of a mother and daughter peering out past the wall of a half destroyed building.

Weren’t they supposed to be happy after having killed half of everyone, she can’t help thinking with a measure of despair. Why did they have to keep coming back?

She gestures the family back and springs into action, ignoring the aches and pains of her already stressed body, the burn from having pushed herself again and again today.

Boom, boom, boom thrums through the air as she prepares to throw herself into combat to save one more family. And then the one after that. Until the day was done, or she died.

Whichever came first.

* * *

Darcy is fluttering nervously near the entrance when they finally fly in. It isn’t a good look on her. Then again, being dog tired, covered in dust and spattered with blood, both hers and not, probably isn’t a good look on Natasha either.

“How did it go? Everyone’s fine, right?”

Everyone’s not fine. More deaths Natasha couldn’t prevent. But everyone here is fine, more or less, and that’s not nothing either.

“Asses: kicked. Cultists: humiliated,” Rocket says. “I hope you’ve got that curry we were promised.”

Darcy giggles more than the comment really deserves. “Come this way, oh walking stomach. And the rest of you too.”

Soon they’re all seated around a table in the canteen, Darcy serving a curry whose smell cuts through every the remnants of the fight lingering in Natasha’s nose. Her stomach rumbles. Apparently she’s not as dead as she feels.

“Not bad,” Carol opines after tasting a mouthful. “But I think it needs a little something. Maybe Monica can help you up your game a little.” She raises an eyebrow.

Darcy pauses briefly, her eyes flickering towards Natasha before back to Carol, and Natasha is too tired to pretend even to herself that she doesn’t know what Carol is hinting at. Not that it matters, of course. Darcy forces a laugh. “Oh, big words about someone who’s never even been to any part of India.”

Carol’s eyes widen and she’s clearly about to defend Monica’s honour when Steve walks in. “Hey,” he says. “What smells good?”

“Victory,” Rocket says before shovelling another spoonful into his mouth.

“Is that so?” he asks before taking a seat next to Natasha. “How’s did it go?” Did you miss me, his expression asks. Was I wrong to sit this one out?

This lie at least Natasha’s certain she can tell. Steve got out, he retired, and she can respect that. “Everything went fine,” she says and gives him a crooked smile. “Turns out we didn’t need a corny speech in the slightest.”

“Ha ha,” he says with a wistful smile. “Glad to hear it.”

After the meal breaks up, Darcy walks back with Natasha in the direction of her room. “Are you alright?” she asks. “You’ve been a bit quiet.”

And if the fact that Darcy has noticed that isn’t an indictment of her state of wakefulness, Natasha’s not sure what would be. “I’m fine,” she says. “It’s just been a long day. Has anything come in?”

Darcy wrinkles her nose. “Nothing that can’t wait for tomorrow, missy. I’m making sure that you have a nice hot bath and then go to bed.”

Natasha has to admit that does sound heavenly, but she can’t help raising an eyebrow. “And are you going to make me?”

A tension enters the air as Darcy’s eyes flicker towards Natasha’s lips and darken, but then she breaks it by moving a little away and laughing with a trace of nervousness only Natasha could probably detect. “Not sure I’m good enough to beat your ninja moves yet.”

And, yes, Darcy moving off like that makes complete sense. There’s nothing between them. They don’t do anything here, not in the compound. But, as they reach Natasha’s door, something — possibly just the day she’s had — compels Natasha to reach out and grab Darcy’s hand, gently enough that Darcy could easily break free. If she wants to. “Want to come in and try anyway?”

Darcy looks back at her uncertainly. Not moving away, but not accepting the offer either.

“Just this once,” Natasha coaxes, quirking her mouth a little. “You really want to put me to all the effort of going clubbing when I’m like this?”

There’s a moment more before Darcy smiles at her, and there’s something in there that Natasha doesn’t have the faculties to analyse just at the moment. “Sure,” she says. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to strain an old woman like you that far on a day you’ve had so much exercise.”

Natasha growls mock seriously and pulls Darcy into her room. “And just for that, I’m going to show you exactly how much energy I still have left.”

“Oh no,” Darcy says with a blatant lack of sincerity. “However will I-” She’s silenced when Natasha puts her mouth to better use.

It’s all going very satisfactorily until Darcy decides to remove the top of Natasha’s suit. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I really thought this would be easier, but it seems a little stuck…”

Natasha doesn’t so much as flinch as the top pulls free, but Darcy notices the freshly opened wound in her side anyway. “Natasha!” she says. “What the hell?”

Natasha shrugs. “It really isn’t as bad as it looks.” And it isn’t. The only reason it’s started bleeding again is because pulling the top ripped the scab off.

Darcy gives her a hard look. “No. You should have said something before dinner so it could be treated.”

Natasha rolls her eyes ostentatiously. “Fine. I’ll remember that for the future.” She gets up and fetches her first aid supplies from under her sink and quickly and efficiently bandages the injury. “Happy?”

“Sure,” Darcy says, but her mouth is pinched, her eyes narrowed, and Natasha softens, going back to her and wrapping her up in her arms.

“If it had been serious, I really would have let someone know,” she says into Darcy’s hair.

Darcy takes a breath and lets it out. “Why won’t you let anyone help you?” she whispers.

Relying on anyone is deadly is still — is always — the automatic reply, but she bites it back successfully. “Well, I believe we were in the middle of us helping each other…” she purrs instead.

Darcy twists so she can see Natasha, an uncertain look in her eyes. “Are you really sure you’re up to it? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Natasha holds in a sigh. It’s very sweet, but it’s also really not what she needs right now. “Compromise? I’ll make you feel really good without hurting myself and let you decide what you feel up to afterwards?”

It’s a compromise she can live with, making someone else feel alive, the way that… far too many people today aren’t. The way she got this injury by acting stupidly, because it increased the chances that some aliens wouldn’t attack a building that might have had some civilians.

Maybe it’s being what some people would have called being a hero. It’s definitely what she was brought up to call getting yourself killed.

And now… now she just needs this, to feel Darcy, to taste Darcy, to make her writhe beneath her.

“You promise that you won’t hurt yourself?” Darcy asks, already lying back on the bed.

“I promise,” Natasha says.

She even finds that she means it.

* * *

The problem with having sex with Darcy in the compound once, Natasha very quickly discovers, is that it’s way too easy to make it a habit. Apart from the cleaners and the delivery people, regular as clockwork, the only person who is consistently around is Steve. In a building the size of the compound with so few inhabitants, it’s easy to go for days without seeing anyone if you don’t make a specific effort.

And lots of corners to conduct discreet business if one has a mind to.

And, well, if she wants to think about it that way, it’s safer to do it here, more secure. No chance of anyone making a connection at a club if they don’t visit there in the first place. Not that they haven’t been back since they began doing things here, but it felt less frantic, with no backalley sex. More enjoyable, in a way.

And here, there’s a much lower barrier to action. If Natasha feels a burn or is in need of distraction from something particularly heavy, and Darcy is amenable… Well. There’s no big production about it. And it’s not exactly as though Darcy’s shy about making her thoughts and desires known.

Like, for instance, slipping into Natasha’s office, lifting her onto her desk and proceeding to eat her out. It’s not really a fantasy Natasha’s ever had — not that Natasha really has fantasies so to speak — but it seems to be doing something for Darcy.

Not… that… Natasha… is… really… complaining…

Movement. Someone at the doorway. Steve, eyes wide and shocked, just before he turns around, in rapid retreat. Darcy freezes against her.

No. No. Nonononononono. This can’t be happening. Steve was supposed to be out for several more hours. How..? No, it doesn’t matter. It happened. 

Natasha feels a tight squeezing in her chest. She can’t move. She can’t think.

Steve knows. Someone knows. Therefore everyone knows. Or will know. And then… Unless…

No, it’s Steve. She can’t even think that.

Darcy in the mean time has risen to her feet, brushed herself off and walked to the door. “Hey,” she calls after Steve’s rapidly retreating form. “Sorry you had to see that. We thought you were going to be out. Is it anything serious?”

“Not that important,” Steve shouts back. “Really not that important.”

Natasha can’t be here right now. She really can’t be here.

And by the time that Darcy turns back to say, “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Natasha is out of the room and rapidly retreating herself.

She can’t be here.

* * *

She manages to dodge both Steve and Darcy for the next couple of days. Not an easy task when Darcy at least is keeping an eye out for her and they’re at least theoretically supposed to working together. It means ghosting her office as much as possible, but thankfully the renovations that Darcy has taken care of pay off and she’s able to do pretty much everything from somewhere else in the building. 

Steve, thankfully, seems to sense that she’s not ready to see him and stays away.

The feeling that something, something, something bad is going to happen any minute now doesn’t subside completely, but at least it’s a knot in her stomach rather than anything worse. 

Darcy finally catches up with her when she’s in the middle of a holocall with Okoye. It’s a good strategy, Natasha has to admit. Whilst she’s on there, she has to remain more or less stationary and there are only so many terminals in the compound. Darcy probably even has access to all the locations, thanks to the repair work she supervised.

Thankfully, she at least waits until Natasha’s call is over. Not that a part of Natasha isn’t convinced that Okoye doesn’t know anyway, despite how irrational Natasha logically knows that thought to be, but still. Business is business, and whatever the nothing between her and Darcy is, it’s definitely not that.

She finally signs off. There’s a moment when she’s tempted to use extreme evasion techniques — like jumping out of the window or something — but a greater part of her realises how ridiculous that would be. She’s going to have to face Darcy at some point, so it might as well be now.

Besides, she’s already started to miss the homecooked meals.

“So, Ms Bond, I have you trapped at last,” Darcy says as she advances into the room, before giving her a cautious look. “You’re not, uh, going to knock me out or anything, right? Because if you are, we could skip that and I’d just say you totally kicked my ass.”

“If I was that bothered about eluding you, I wouldn’t still be here,” Natasha says dryly.

“Good to know, because between my taser and your stingy things, it’d be a battle for the ages,” Darcy says, striking a pose as if she were holding an invisible weapon.

“Well, that’s it. I’m scared now,” Natasha says, unable to help cracking a smile as the knot in her stomach subsides to its former level from before Darcy showed up. She’s not entirely sure how Darcy manages to do that to her.

Darcy laughs before sobering. “Look, I’m sorry if Iouted you to Steve before you were ready. I didn’t want that at all.”

For a moment, Natasha can just blink. That’s why Darcy thought she was avoiding her?. That’s… It’s so far from the cause of the gnawing in Natasha’s gut, that it takes a moment for her to shift gears.

Then again, it’s not as though it’s a thousand miles away, either. And maybe — maybe, maybe, maybe — maybe if she talks to Steve and makes sure that he tells no one else, absolutely no one else, then it’ll be fine?

It will be fine, she tells herself. There’s no reason for Darcy to come to any harm just because Steve — because anyone, everyone — knows that there’s a not-a-thing between the two of them, even though she’s frail and weak and mortal, even more so than Natasha, despite the fact that she’s lost more capable friends just over a year ago.

It will be fine, she tells herself. It will be fine. But she doesn’t believe it.

“I’ll talk with him,” she tells Darcy, smiling for her benefit. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

* * *

The funny thing, Natasha reflects as approaches Steve training in the gym, is that she wasn’t actually out to him before, well, the office. Not that she thinks that he’s going to react badly. He might be from the 40s, but she’s seen no sign that he has a problem with queer people.

Him throwing some kind of mortifying coming out party, on the other hand, might be a distinct danger.

“Heya,” she says as she comes into view. “Ready to have a proper workout?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Think you can give me one?”

“Wow. I think I’m going to have to make you eat those words, Rogers.”

It’s a good day. Today’s theme is kickboxing apparently. She does manage to, if not actually make him eat his words, at least give a decent accounting of herself. Sure, he’s holding back a bit, but he doesn’t seem to be doing that more than usual.

“So,” he says as they’re warming down afterwards. “You and Darcy, huh?”

She rolls her eyes. “Going to give me some kind of speech about accepting myself, Rogers?”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he says mildly. “Unless you were hoping for one? I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“I’m really good.”

“Good. I was just going to say that I’m happy for you both. I’m glad that you’ve managed to find something in all this.” He’s trying hard with his smile, she can tell, trying to be encouraging when he’s not sure that he entirely means it.

“There’s isn’t ‘something’ between Darcy and I,” Natasha says with only a little asperity. “Just a bit of stress relief. Which I’m sorry that you had to walk in on. I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Okay,” Steve says with a careful look which Natasha refuses to read into. “Glad I got the field report. And, yes, I could go the rest of my life without the awkwardness of seeing that again.”

“Me too.” She hesitates for just a second before glancing at him assessingly. “Can you keep this between us? It’s really not something I want anyone making anything of.”

“Sure, just… Maybe not on my desk.” A pause.. “Lie to me if you have to”.

She doesn’t smile, but she does throw a towel at him before walking out. “Not funny, Rogers. Not funny.”

* * *

Natasha wakes up and even before she opens her eyes, she knows it’s going to be a bad day. There’s a feeling like there’s a stone in her chest and all she wants to do is just lie there in bed and maybe, if she’s very lucky, roll over and go back to sleep.

She doesn’t, of course. She rolls out of bed and gets ready for the gym. If Steve notices her mood, he doesn’t say anything. Then it’s breakfast and Darcy which… isn’t so bad. 

“Hey,” Natasha says as she comes into the canteen, automatically moving up to help Darcy with the prep.

Darcy looks up from the pan and grins at her. “Hey. Sure you’re up to that?”

Natasha gives her an actual smile, which hadn’t felt possible before that. “I think I can manage.”

Natasha’s aware of Darcy’s body as she helps her with the remnants of prep. They haven’t done anything since Steve found out. Probably for the best. The irrational feeling of danger every time she so much as thinks about it has slowly faded, and nothing obviously awful has happened, but…

She can’t help that there’s a part of her that’s still worrying, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It’s… not bad, though, coexisting with Darcy like this. Even when Darcy starts to reach for her, then stops and pulls away.

It wouldn’t be safe for Darcy if Natasha indulged her. It would feel too much like something.

And Natasha has to save her energy for other things, like the reports and meetings she has today.

It’s a good strategy. The day is hard enough as it is.

“Hey,” Darcy says softly after Natasha’s been staring blankly at an email for five minutes. “Everything alright?”

Natasha gives her a smile that wouldn’t deceive anyone, a sign of how much she trusts her, even in her current mood. “Fine.”

Darcy waits her out, which only takes five minutes or so. Her trainers would be so disappointed. “It’s nothing, really. Just the estimates on the Snap’s secondary fatalities for last month.”

Secondary fatalities. That’s a term. Estimated losses due to various disruptions from the Snap — thankfully minimal at over a year out — and far more concrete figures on losses due to things like suicide.

Darcy rests her hand on Natasha’s shoulder and, surprisingly, it isn’t so bad. It kind of feels like just what she needs on a day like today. “Why do you do this to yourself?” Darcy asks softly. “This isn’t your fault.”

It is, though. Every death that happened back then, all the suffering that’s still ongoing. If only she’d done something different, managed to be better, even if at the cost of her own life, none of this would have happened.

She sighs, leaning into Darcy’s arm and letting her head fall back so she can look up at her. “Thanks for helping distract me.”

Darcy leers a little at her, obviously about to make a comment before looking abashed. “Sorry, Didn’t mean to be inappropriate.”

Natasha can’t help but wonder why she’s been denying herself this. It’s not as though it’s really anything and it certainly hasn’t been making her feel better, especially on days like today. And nothing bad has happened. Not yet and maybe not ever, as long as it never does become anything.

She manages to give her a slight but genuine smile. “I wouldn’t say inappropriate, Darcy. Look all you want.”

Darcy swallows and lets her eyes drift down Natasha’s body. “And what if I want to do more than look?” she asks, her voice going slightly high.

“Then we should probably move out of the office. We wouldn’t want to give Rogers any more gray hairs, after all.”

* * *

Rocket is chewing on some ribs, cracking them with his teeth, sucking the marrow out and generally making a whole production of it when he points his latest victim at Steve and says, “Okay, spill. How long have Red and Sweet Cheeks been screwing like bunnies?”

He manages to time it so that Steve is just taking a (much neater) bite of his, so Natasha spends the next thirty seconds trying to save Steve from choking on a gobbet of meat that went down the wrong way. 

“Come on!” Darcy exhorts. “He’s turning purple!”

“This is a lot harder than it looks,” Natasha grunts. “It’s all the muscle.”

All the while, Rocket is rolling on his back laughing whilst Nebula continues to eat with a clinical expression that leaves Natasha unsure whether or not she’s going to intervene or just leave the humans to it.

At last, with a particularly hard blow to his back, the gobbet is dislodged and Steve can breathe again.

“I think I’m going to stick to water for a while,” he murmurs.

“Probably best,” Rocket says, cracking another rib. “Leave the meat to the people that can handle it.”

It’s a few minutes before Natasha remembers what exactly caused Steve’s choking fit. A tight chill runs straight down her back and she can’t help but glance at Darcy, who looks back at her with a vaguely quizzical air before her eyes widen and her hands start waving around as if in semaphore.

“Uh, so, what have you been doing since you were last here?” she asks with a distinct air of desperation.

Subtle, Darcy, Natasha thinks.

Nebula shrugs one shoulder. “Finding problems. Solving them. Shooting people.”

“Generally with nets, so don’t get your panties in a twist,” Rocket says. “Because, oh yeah, you’ve got Red over there to do that for you.” He gestures in Natasha’s direction as if it weren’t painfully obvious who he was speaking about.

“Please forgive him,” Nebula whispers in her raspy voice. “He’s spent far too long in the company of Quill.”

Rocket’s good humour abruptly cuts off. “Yeah, well, he knew a quality joke when he heard one.”

Darcy, meanwhile, has been pretty much opening staring at Natasha with a slightly frightened look in her eyes, as though she’s waiting for her to break or something. Natasha continues to eat with a quiet, calm speed, absolutely unaffected by anything a jumped up rodent might be saying.

Steve says, “I’m aware that different cultures have different standards of etiquette, but here on earth it’s not polite to talk about such things without being explicitly invited to. Preferably by both of the parties involved.” His voice and body language don’t change in any appreciable way, but Natasha is suddenly aware of how very big he is, and he’s not even looking at her.

“Yeah, well, when you’ve got a nose like mine, it’s pretty hard to avoid knowing things like that,” Rocket mutters but subsides under Steve’s level gaze. “So, what else is new?” he asks.

Throughout the rest of the meal, Darcy keeps looking at her as if she were a spooked horse, like she’s expecting her to run away from the table at any moment, which doesn’t exactly help her mood. But, afterwards, when Darcy catches up with her and nudges her in the ribs with her elbow, she doesn’t even flinch away.

“Are you alright?” Darcy whispers, as if she’s worried about being overheard even here. Which, granted, they may be, given the unknown senses of their alien comrades.

Natasha shrugs. “I’m fine.”

Darcy studies her closely, but, surprisingly, she is. She really is. It’s… as much as she told herself otherwise, there’s still a part of her that believed that as soon as anyone else knew, everyone else would. So Rocket and Nebula knowing isn’t a surprise at all to that part of her.

It doesn’t exactly help the itching feeling between her shoulder blades that something bad is going to happen to Darcy because of this, because of what they’re doing-not-doing.

But maybe she’s just going to have to learn to live with that.

* * *

When Darcy comes up to her door late at night and knocks, Natasha really isn’t expecting her to be scuffing her shoe when she opens the door.

“Hi!” Darcy says overly brightly. “So, how’s tricks?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, didn’t think that was going to work. So, um, there’s a favour I need to ask you.”

This… is not sounding like a conversation she wants to have out in the hallway. Favours, especially from people… she might consider friends, rarely strike her as the kind of thing she wants to discuss in public. She retreats to the bed and indicates the chair with one hand. Darcy gratefully accepts the unspoken offer, entering the room, shutting the door behind her and straddling the chair so she’s facing the back of it.

“My family have this big thing each year at around Christmas. All the extended family fly in and it’s a big to-do with everyone comparing sizes of wallets and political connections, that kind of thing.” She makes a disgusted face. “It’s, well, it’s the kind of event that I’m expected to attend, if only so Mother can walk me around, show everyone what a disappointment I’m being.”

“It’s March,” Natasha feels obligated to mention.

“Exactly. I didn’t go home last Christmas for, well, several reasons. But mainly that my favourite aunt didn’t make it through the one in two, and…” Darcy’s eyes start filling with water and Natasha feels the inexplicable urge to hug her, even though she’s been told by multiple people that she’s really not good at the kind of thing. “It doesn’t matter. Just that Mother’s called that chip in and wants me home for Easter. And I was hoping that… It’d really be easier if I had someone there with me.”

It’s hardly the first time someone’s asked for as support on a mission to the rich and powerful. Hardly the first time she’s infiltrated that kind of party by herself. But it feels different with Darcy asking. “Do you normally ask friends to go home with you? Aren’t they going to think..?” She indicates the two of them.

Darcy snort-laughs, eyes still wet. “Yeah, well, maybe it’ll stop them trying to matchmake me. And would it really be so bad, acting like girlfriends for once?” she adds in too wistful a tone for Natasha to ignore.

“We’re not, though,” she says firmly and Darcy reacts like she’s been slapped. “We’re friends,” Natasha says more softly, trying to cushion the blow, even though that admission by itself still feels far too much at the moment. “Who occasionally have sex. But nothing more.”

Never anything more. She clings to that, like it’s a talisman to stop the dark tides of panic rising within. She knows that she’s being ridiculous, but...

Darcy looks away from her, swallows, takes a few breaths. “Yeah, but still. I could use a friend there. As backup. And it’d be easier if, you know. They misunderstood.”

It’s times like this that Darcy seems so much smaller than Natasha, for all that she’s over an inch taller. This is a mistake. She knows it’s a mistake. But it’s not the first mistake that she’s made for a friend, and Darcy’s… Darcy’s a friend. Natasha owes her that much. And maybe it’ll be worth it, if it means that Darcy won’t have that look on her face ahy more.. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. I’ll be your friend. And whatever else you want to pretend to your parents that we are.”

The smile that Darcy turns on her is trembling, but hopeful. “You sure? I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She shrugs, back on surer territory. “Don’t worry. I’m comfortable with pretty much anything.”

* * *

Darcy’s parents’ house looks exactly like what she might expect, even if she hadn’t done extensive recon. A grandiose front set in grounds that look extensive, at least from this angle, all meant to imply greater wealth than the Lewises actually had. Which is still enough that the training in the back of Natasha’s mind still tells her that these people are a prime example of the decadent bourgeoisie. No matter how hypocritical that would be, considering the wealth of the oligarchs and other shadowy figures who had actually paid her masters for missions by the time Natasha was running them.

Still, the old training in how to blend in with foreign elites comes in useful when Darcy’s mother — rather than a member of staff — opens the door. Her polite facade grows a bit more genuine when Natasha greets her — always a matter of the correct mannerisms marking one as a member of the proper cliques — and she turns back to Darcy. “What a nice young woman,” she says in a tone that fully implies ‘unlike a lot of the people you usually bring home.’

Darcy, on the other hand, is giving her definite side eye at her change in mannerisms. ‘What the hell’ is the definite subtext of her body language.

It’s around that point that the obvious efforts of Darcy’s mother — Mrs Lewis, please — to identify exactly where in the social hierarchy Natasha is located pay off, and she makes an oh of surprise.

Natasha gives her a polite smile, sharpened only a little. “Yes, that Natasha Romanoff.”

Mrs Lewis looks her up and down, evidently trying to evaluate how this changed Natasha’s relative status. “I had heard that Darcy had been… working with your organisation. For a while, of course, before she finally remembers her obligations to the family. But I had no idea that her collaboration was so… close.”

“She’s very accomplished,” Natasha says. “We’re very lucky to have her.”

Mrs Lewis looks like she wants to enquire further, but by this point, they’ve reached one of the studies on the ground floor, and Darcy’s father is waiting within. He looks up as they enter.

“This is Natasha Romanoff,” Mrs Lewis introduces her. “From those Avengers you hear so much about on the news.”

Mr Lewis’ moustache quivers a little. “Natasha Romanoff? Hmpf. I hope you realise that your shenanigans at the Triskelion caused serious damage to the defence sector.”

Natasha had, in fact, been fully aware of just that, thanks to adequate intelligence work. It had hit more than the pockets of the defence contractors, if the reduced size and extravagance of the following Lewis parties was anything to go by. No direct links to HYDRA that she’d been able to discover though. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” she says mildly. “It was a hard time for all of us.”

“Yes, well,” he mutters. “Make sure you don’t do anything like that again. There are ways and means to do these kind of things the proper way, without causing all this mess afterwards.”

“I’ll endeavour to take notes,” she says. Mr Lewis looks at her sharply for that, but her facade is completely flawless. It’s actually rather charming in its own way, that someone is still holding a grudge against her for that, rather than any of the things before or since.

Darcy on the other hand seems to feel differently. “Dad!” she complains. “Can you not, like, show your slavish devotion to the military industrial complex for five seconds while I show my girlfriend around?”

The moustache quivers again. “Yes, well, go ahead. Make sure that you keep to the public areas,” he says.

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Gee, thanks, dad. I’ll endeavour to take notes.” She drags Natasha off before he makes much of a response.

“Sorry my parents are the worst,” she complains. “‘Those Avengers’” she mimics savagely. “Can you please save the world in such a way that doesn’t cost me money next time.”

Natasha can’t help finding the whole thing more… endearing? than Darcy seems to. It’s not like anything she dreamed about, way back in the Red Room. It’s certainly nothing like the domestic reality of the Bartons, where Laura is the undisputed head of the household and farm, Clint being her faithful minion whenever he’s around. She’s not even sure that it’s functional in any real way.

But for all that, there’s still affection there, and she’s glad that Darcy had that growing up. Parents who were willing to indulge her as she stumbled across the world, looking for her own path, even as they evidently disagreed with it.

Besides, ‘Those Avengers’ has a ring to it. Maybe she can talk to Pepper about getting the name of the team changed.

Darcy’s elbow nudges her out of her musings. “And you, what was that Stepford act? Yes, Mrs Lewis, No, Mrs Lewis, I’ll pay attention, Mr Lewis.”

Natasha shrugs. “You asked me to play the dutiful girlfriend. A suitable cover is just part of the service.”

Darcy’s face acquires a slightly pinched look, but Natasha can’t help her there. There are boundaries to think of, and they’re playing fast and close as it is.

“Here’s my room,” Darcy says, opening the door and gesturing with an exaggerated wave. “Ta da!”

“It’s very… pink,” Natasha says politely. Not to mention the frills. 

“Trust me, not my idea,” Darcy says with a disgruntled expression. “And I successfully lobbied to change it to a navy blue when I was fourteen. I still can’t believe they changed it back after I left for college.”

Moving around the room, Natasha examines various pictures of Darcy when she was younger scattered across various surfaces. Including one where… “You were a cheerleader?” she asks, turning to face her with a quizzical look.

“I tried out. Once. Under great protest. I believe the suggestion afterwards was that I try out for team mascot.”

“So you’re saying that if I go through these cupboards, I won’t find an outfit?” Natasha can’t quite keep from laughing out loud at Darcy’s expression and this isn’t… this all isn’t as bad as she had worried.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Darcy says in a dire tone of voice. “Fake outfit to go with a fake room.”

It’s not a situation Natasha can sympathise with naturally, but it obviously bothers Darcy, so she reaches out and takes Darcy’s hand, squeezing it once before letting it hang loosely between them. Darcy startles and gives her a quick look, but doesn’t say anything, which is probably for the best.

“So…” Darcy says after a minute, casting both Natasha and the pink frilly abomination of a bed speculative glances. “Want to help me defile my fake childhood bed?”

It’s as good a distraction as any from this whole situation. “I thought you’d never ask,” Natasha replies smoothly.

* * *

“So what exactly has Darcy been handling for you?” Mr Lewis asks.

Dinner so far has been progressing relatively smoothly. After the initial social faux pas of being Natasha Romanoff of Those Avengers, she’s managed to slowly soften his opinion to the point where the moustache is hardly moving apart from when he’s eating. From Darcy’s nails digging into her leg, though, this has the potential to be a sensitive question.

“Oh, you know,” she says vaguely. “Organisational efficiency. Interfacing with other departments and outside entities. General management in a supervisory fashion. Darcy’s a bit of an all round star and a very quick learner for very unique needs. As I told Mrs Lewis, we’re very lucky to have her.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Darcy doing her best to suppress laughter at Natasha’s description of her job, which isn’t going unnoticed from the sharp look her mother is giving her. Thankfully, Mr Lewis seems oblivious, just gratified at the praise she’s heaping on his daughter. “That’s all very good to hear. I always knew Darcy would do well once she applied herself.”

Darcy’s amusement fades, and Natasha feels a sharp anger towards her father. Can’t he just let her have this without a backhanded compliment?

“From the sounds of it, she’s always done well, at whatever she’s chosen to do,” she says with a hint of an edge. “All of my colleagues that I’ve spoken to have had nothing but the highest praise for her.”

“Yes, well,” he huffs. “I wouldn’t exactly call running around for years with a mere doctor the best use of her talents.”

Darcy’s lips are so thin as to be almost white and her hands are balled when Natasha rests one hand on them. Natasha leans into her side, doing all she can to provide a little more contact, but she doesn’t know if it’s remotely enough because how dare this ignorant little man talk about Darcy’s dead friend like that.

“I find that if you can’t speak well of the dead, it’s best not to speak at all,” she says coldly and finally,  _ finally  _ Mr Lewis seems to realise that he may have made a mistake. Possibly aided by the way that Natasha finds herself holding her knife like she’s going to carve his tongue out with it.

It’s… this is not how she should be acting, how she should be feeling. It’s not productive. It’s not helping anyone. She should be defusing situations, not escalating them. And yet… And yet…

The knife still remains firmly clenched in her hand as Mr Lewis harrumphs, but doesn’t seem inclined to stay anything else.

“What I think Derek was trying to say,” Mrs Lewis dives in, “is that we are of course looking to Darcy’s future, and of course the experience she’s getting with you will be invaluable in whatever she wants to do next.”

Darcy finally breaks her silence by giving a brittle laugh. “Yes, well, I have had the chance to work with the top levels of Stark Industries. Not to mention getting face time with various governmental dignitaries, but inside the US and without. Got to keep up with that face time, huh. I’m sure that’ll be good for a boast or two at the next family gathering. Because that’s what’s important, right? After everything that’s happened, after half our family and the rest of the fucking world has died, what’s really important is the latest pretty feather you can display from the family nest.”

Her parents are shocked, white faced. “Darcy,” Mr Lewis manages, moustache limp. “That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy says. “I’m sorry,” she repeats louder as she stands up, dragging Natasha’s hand with her. “I’m not really feeling hungry anymore. I need to get some air.”

Natasha stands with her and smiles politely, effortlessly. “I’m really very sorry for creating a scene,” she says and disappears along with Darcy.

Outside, the air is chill and damp. Darcy strides away from the house, huddling into herself, silent, and Natasha is unsure of what’s best to do. She knows how she would manipulate her, sure — shaken like this, Darcy would be primed for gaining trust, confidences.

But how to help someone in these straits? Natasha was never trained for that.

“Is there anything I can do?” she gently asks.

“Could you just wrap an arm around me?” Darcy asks, her voice wet with unshed tears. “Maybe like we are actually girlfriends. Just for a while.”

It’s another blurred line, but there have been so many of those already, what does one more matter, just for tonight? Not if it’ll help Darcy for the moment.

“Okay,” she says, holding Darcy’s warm softness to her side. Darcy leans into her with a sigh, as though just by doing this Natasha has taken some great weight off her. And then, very quietly, she begins to cry. But it doesn’t feel like the times Darcy has been overcome, like in the conference room. The tears feel more like something Darcy’s allowing to happen, like she trusts Natasha just that much.

It feels far more dangerous than anything they’ve shared before.

* * *

Waking up in bed the next morning is something of a shock. To be honest, she hadn’t planned on sleeping in a bed at all. But Darcy had just wanted to go to bed after getting back from her walk, and she’d still been so quiet that… well, Natasha hadn’t been able to bring herself to tear her hand away from where Darcy had been clutching it.

She’s only rarely had to sleep in the same bed as someone else, and she’s never been that good at it. Pretend to sleep, sure, as a prelude to murder or espionage, but actually relax that much around another human? It hadn’t exactly been encouraged.

So she’s a little surprised that she managed to get any sleep at all. And worried. Definitely worried.

Thankfully, her training in how to slip out of bed without waking her partner up is as effective as ever and, after showering and getting ready for the day, she slips downstairs to purloin some coffee. Mrs Lewis is already up when she enters the kitchen and she looks up when Natasha deliberately makes a noise when entering.

“Oh,” she says, holding a hand to her chest. “You gave me quite the scare. I guess that’s all part of your...” She waves a hand around in the air vaguely.

“Something like that. Thank you, Mrs Lewis,” she adds as Darcy’s mother slides a cup of coffee to her.

Mrs Lewis offers her a slight smile. “I think you can call me Nicola since we’re all alone here.”

Natasha nods, at least making the action of accepting the peace offering. “Thank you Nicola, then.”

Nicola bustles around the kitchen. “It’s really the least I can do, especially after last night. I’m really sorry about that. You must think we’re the worst parents.”

There’s still a low anger deep within Natasha, but she has to admit she’s seen far worse, so she elects to say nothing at all.

Nicola seems to take her silent for approbation. “You have to forgive Derek.” Natasha had to do no such thing. “He just wants the best for her. And, well, with the new world, nothing is certain, but power—and connections to power—help.” She looks at her with a bit of desperation. “He just wants to be able to pass all this onto her, with the knowledge that she’ll be able to pass it on to her children, rather than…” She shrugs. “He just wants to be able to pass all this into safe hands.”

It’s… not the worst sentiment that Natasha’s heard coming from a parent. But still. “Maybe he should start listening to what she wants,” she says.

“I’ll talk with him about it.”

The rest of the weekend passes uneventfully, and maybe this is just the way this family handles things. An initial blowup followed by wounded silences. It’s not the worst family situation Natasha’s ever seen, even excepting her own background, but she can’t help feeling Darcy deserves more, deserves better, and she does her humble best to make sure that she helps, as best she can.

And maybe it wasn’t so bad that Darcy asked her to come with her with this weekend. However much it gnaws at her belly.

On Sunday night, as they’re getting ready to go, Darcy goes up and gives each of her parents in turn a fierce hug. “Look after yourselves,” she says.

Mr Lewis offers her a stiff handshake but to her surprise Nicola gives her a firm hug. “Look after her,” she whispers into Natasha’s ear and Natasha is too surprised to do anything other than nod.

Darcy’s acting distracted and, well, affectionate on the way back. Touching Natasha’s hand, taking it when she has the opportunity, even hugging her one armed when they stop for dinner. It makes Natasha’s skin crawl a bit, but she allows it. She reasons that it’s just Darcy unwinding after their pretence. Everyone has a different method out of relaxing out of a role, and this is probably just hers.

It’s what she tries to tell herself, anyway.

It’s not until they pull up to the compound and Darcy takes a moment to wrap both arms around her, squeeze then step away with a determined expression that Natasha’s stomach drops in anticipation.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy says. “But we’re going to have to stop all of this. It’s… I know I was as into the meaningless sex as anyone when we first started.” She bites her lip. “But… after this weekend...I know I want more. And I understand that it’s not what you signed up for and it’s not fair to you. But doing this isn’t fair to me either, so…” She shrugs and her eyes are wet with unshed tears and the worst, the absolute worst thing about this is that Natasha wants to reach for her, wants to help, somehow, but even she can see that would be the wrong thing to do right now. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Just… give me a few days and expect mostly emails.” She grabs her suitcase and heads inside.

Natasha just stands out there for a while, feeling like her insides have been frozen solid. It’s not at all what she expected, but at the same time, there’s a part of her that relieved that the calamity her instincts had insisted was coming has finally come to pass.

* * *

Darcy pretty much gets Steve in the divorce. Natasha might think that it’s unfair, but she’s fine, she’s completely fine. Darcy is the one who needs Steve’s help. And for the first few days, he confines himself to reproachful little looks, the kind that say ‘I’m disappointed because I know you can do better.’

Natasha’s the one who breaks first. “Say what you’ve got to say, Rogers,” she finally growls when he wanders in to her office one evening. A larger silent form rather than a smaller quiet one.

“I thought you had a good thing going with Darcy,” he says.

“I did. Past tense. It turns out that we wanted different things, so we’re moving on.”

“I may not understand all these modern arrangements,” he says in a tone that makes it clear he’s perfectly well aware of what was going on between her and Darcy, “but I’m also fairly sure that neither of you are happy with how things ended.”

Because, of course, Rogers is a damned romantic. Of course he is. “I guess that’s what happens when no-one gets what they want."

He holds up his hands in a sign of surrender. “I get it, I get it. You want to be left alone to sulk, and I’m just an intruder here.”

She leans back in her chair, rolling her shoulders, hearing joints crack. “I wouldn’t say that, precisely. Just save your input on that topic from someone who wants it, might be helped by it. Like Darcy.”

“Loud and clear.” His gaze falls upon the empty plate that’s lying on the desk. “So, how are sandwiches these days?”

She makes a growl in the back of her throat and he gives a chuckle. “Okay, okay. Sore subject, I get it. I’m shutting up.”

But the laughter, even if it isn’t hers, helps lift something oppressive from the room that she hadn’t even really realised was there. “Look on the bright side. You won’t have to cover your eyes when you enter my office, just in case.”

He groans. “It was just once, but I swear you’ve scarred me for life, Nat.”

“Wouldn’t you say that it’s a good sign in one of your groups? That being able to be scarred means that you’re still capable of change, or some such nonsense?”

His expression softens. “I’m not sure I’d say exactly that. But it doesn’t sound like such a bad thought, for people like us.”

“Any news?”

He gives a bittersweet smile. “As it happens, yes. Soraya’s baby took her first proper steps yesterday. The group today… It’s nice to know that some people are capable of moving on.”

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees. Even if not her, even if not Steve, it’s not such a bad thing to know about the rest of the world. Maybe even Darcy, who deserves much better than Natasha could ever offer anyway.

And Natasha’s fine, she’s completely fine, but it’s not such a bad thing to know that there might be the odd better day as well.

* * *

For a moment, she thinks that she’s having a flashback but, no, she can feel her nails digging into her palm, the room really did shake and there really was an explosion.

“Friday, status!” she snaps as she grabs a gun starts running towards where the noise came from.

“There’s been an explosion in the north west annex and armed people are currently making their way in through the annex.”

“Who are they? Why didn’t you give us more warning?”

“They’re wearing masks, don’t have phones or other source of easily hackable data and I don’t have enough other information to narrow down their identities yet.” As if she needs another reminder of the quite frankly horrifying capabilities that Stark built into the compound AI. “As for the lack of warning, they arrived in vans belonging to the same maintenance company Ms Darcy uses. I initially thought she might have scheduled a visit and not informed me.” It is at least good to get some confirmation that Friday actually does seem to scruple at hacking the staff personal data.

She’s close enough to the entry point that she slows down enough to be cautious. “Who’s in the compound right now, and where are they?” she whispers to Friday.

At this time of day, Steve’s probably out, and Darcy should be either be in the canteen or…

A crackle of gunfire muffles Friday’s response. But it’s good enough answer in and of itself. There wouldn’t be gunfire if they didn’t have something to shoot at.

“… The quad garden,” Friday finishes.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. That’s far too close to the northwest annex. At least there’s some cover there, maybe enough time for Natasha to…

She speeds up again, trying to keep low and fast. She careens around the corner to see two masked figures. Her guns are firing before she consciously realises that one is armed with a shotgun, the other with a pistol. They’re jerking and falling before getting off a shot, but if her opponents are good they’ll be expecting her.

At least from this direction.

If she’s smart, she’ll use this to distract them. They’ll have to keep on eye on the way they just heard shots from, waiting for someone to come down that hall. She can use her superior knowledge of the structure to surprise them…

But that’ll take time. Time Darcy maybe doesn’t have.

She continues barrelling down the corridor, hardly pausing as the calculation flows through her head, the decision made even before it’s finished.

She was right. They are waiting for her as she enters the annex. Wild shots from her left hand pistol encourage the waiting gunmen to keep their heads down, whilst her right hand zeros in and manages to tag a guy taking shelter behind a stone bench…

Just as a white hot pain goes through her left shoulder, spinning her around and sending one gun spinning away. She does at least manage to guide the spin so it carries her back into the corridors just emerged from.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She’s losing blood, she can feel it trickling down her left arm. At least it isn’t spurting, she can’t help thinking ruefully. But still, it puts her on a clock, before she gets weaker, before her vision starts to blur. Before she falls unconscious and is helpless.

“All forces come back. We’ve spotted an Avenger where we breached the place. Repeat, there’s an Avenger at the breach,” a voice from the annex calls.

Shock and bloodless get her to giggle a little. So nice of them to inform her of their goals. That’s… good. It sounds like they’re here to take down the Avengers, rather than steal technology or something else. Or at the very least, they’re more concerned with her than any other immediate goal. Maybe if Darcy is still alive…

She pushes herself to her feet. Darcy won’t be helped in any way if she bleeds out here. Time to use a little more strategy.

The last thing they’re expecting is an attack from the very hole in the reinforced glass they made themselves. Three, four, five go down before they can react, then she fades again.

She looks down at her hands. The one not pointed scarlet is awfully pale and shaking. Not much time left.

“How many hostiles left, Friday.”

“Six. Now five. Ms Darcy has just disabled another.”

Natasha catches sight of her reflection in a window as she passes it. Her smile is red and wide and sharp. Good. Darcy’s giving them hell.

She manages to take two more down in her next strike, but in her retreat, her tunnelling vision misses a step and she goes flying, her gun going skittering across the corridor as a punishing landing knocks the breath from her lungs. She’s just about to roll back to her feet, ignoring the dizzying grey that seems to have almost completely claimed her thoughts when her remaining pursuers catch up with her.

“Look at her,” a dim shape says mockingly. “Helpless on the floor. Helpless like she was to save our loved ones.” There’s a raw anger to the man’s voice, a desolation that Natasha can’t help sympathise with and she suddenly wishes again that Rogers was here instead of yet another of his stupid meetings. Maybe he’d have been able to talk them down, end this without even more bloodshed.

But he’s not and he left her with what remains of the Avengers, and she’s not going to give up again, not going to stop trying to help as long as she draws breath.

She collapses back onto the ground, and the man draws closer, apparently convinced of her helplessness… just within range of where she can reach with a sting. With the last of her reserves, she manages to focus her eyes and, taking the gun from his twitching form, shoot the other two attackers in the kneecaps.

There aren’t going to be any more lives lost today.

Then, spent, she collapses unconscious.

* * *

She slowly regains consciousness, to her mild surprise. When she opens her eyes, Darcy and Steve are seated either side of her bed, Dr Cho puttering around further out.

Steve is the first to notice that she’s awoken. “Hey,” he says with a relieved smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Kind of like I’ve been shot.” Though in honesty she’s already feeling a lot better. Dr Cho does good work. She turns to face him. She can’t look at Darcy pale upset face just yet. She’s not ready to confront that at the moment.

She’s here and she’s alive and that’s enough for now.

“So I hear that you’ve really gone downhill without me to boss you around. Want me to step back in for a while?”

She makes a face and shakes her head. “Like I remember you saying to someone else, you got out for a reason. I can’t ask you to get back in.”

He makes a face. “I also seem to remember that he decided to, anyway.”

“And that seemed to be right for him, judging by the fact that he stayed in. You want to tell me that it’d be right for you, Steve?”

He hesitates and that’s as a good an answer as any. “Don’t let guilt drive you into a course of action. Isn’t that what you’d tell anyone else?” she says.

He gives her a bittersweet smile. “Do you ever think that you might be a little too good at reading people, Nat?”

“Never.” She hesitates, before pushing forwards. It’s… she’s got to handle this sooner or later, and there’s no reason to wait. “Steve, could you and Dr Cho give us a moment?”

“Sure,” he says, getting to his feet. “We can give you that.”

“So, decided to stop ignoring me now?” Darcy asks, slapping Natasha’s good shoulder. She sounds angry but when Natasha turns to look at her, she’s still upset, her eyes almost spilling over with water. “Jerk.”

“Sorry,” Natasha says, quirking the corner of her mouth. “Didn’t mean to get shot.”

“Do you know what it was like when Friday said that the bad guys were down, but I needed to get to you right then?” Darcy starts crying, huge ugly snorts that at least provide a little colour to her face.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha repeats, more softly. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”

“So, what, you’d have preferred to die than cause me a little bit distress? Because that would have been so much better for me? You’re an idiot sometimes, Natasha Romanoff.”

And she’s right. Darcy’s completely right. Natasha always makes the smart play. It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t play the hero on occasion, but even then…

She’s so emotionally compromised by one Darcy Lewis, it’s not even funny. Except that of course it is, and she starts laughing almost hysterically. If only her trainers could see her now.

Darcy’s face travels from surprised to pissed to worried. “It, uh, wasn’t that funny,” she says.

“You don’t understand,” Natasha tells her, still snorting slightly. “You really don’t understand. The reason I got shot in the first place was because I coming to save you.”

She knows that her words are a mistake as soon as she says them, and she reaches out unthinkingly for Darcy’s hand. “No. Nonononono. It wasn’t your fault. If anything, it’s my fault they were after you in the first place.”

The blood-loss and the drugs must be hitting her hard. She has a vague feeling that she’s going to be appalled at what she’s saying later. She can’t quite bring herself to care at the moment.

Darcy glowers at her. “Anyone ever tell you that you have quite the martyr complex, Ms Romanoff?”

But Natasha doesn’t really listen, still too caught up in that initial run towards the annex. “I was so worried that I was going to get there too late. I thought, I really thought that you were going to die because I was so stupid.”

Darcy hands her some tissues. When Natasha looks at her blankly, she mimes mopping at her face. When Natasha does so, the tissue comes back damp.

She hadn’t even realised that she was crying.

“It wouldn’t have been your fault, even if anything had,” Darcy says bluntly. “You didn’t force those guys to attack us.”

Natasha isn’t so sure. If she hadn’t failed to stop Thanos… But— “No,” she says. “That’s not the point.” She has to make Darcy understand. “People who get too close to me, they... get hurt. They shatter. They die.” Sometimes she’d had to kill them. Her former comrades at the Red Room. People at SHIELD, even those she’d genuinely liked and trusted as much as she trusted almost anyone, save a very select few.

Darcy’s back to glowering at her. “You mean to say that all that shit about how there was nothing between us was because of a fucking superstition?”

“It didn’t feel safe,” Natasha says firmly. Still doesn’t, especially because now she’s had to admit to herself that she does actually care about Darcy, really care about her. It’s hard to explain, even to herself. Friendships were always punished amongst the girls of the Red Room, used as weapons when they were discovered or even suspected. And since then… She thought she’d found a home at SHIELD of sorts, and that had fallen through. She thought that the Avengers were safe, before they’d split and she had been a hunted criminal again. She’d thought at least that Steve, Sam, Bucky and Wanda had been people she could absolutely trust. And now only Steve was left.

And now Darcy.

She’s not sure that there’s enough of her left to lose one of them too.

Darcy thrusts herself up, her face a mixture of worry and frustration. “I- I think I’m going to need some time to think this over. And probably wait until you’re clearer headed. But if you think you’re getting rid of me because of some imagined curse, Natasha, you’re very much mistaken.”

It’s… Natasha can’t concentrate on any of that at the moment. The important thing is that Darcy is safe. Mad at her, but safe.

And that’s enough for now.

* * *

“You’re an idiot,” Darcy announces as she enters Natasha’s office, as had become her wont over the last several days.

“Not that I’m disagreeing with the statement, but it does sound like there’s a fascinating story behind it,” Okoye says from the holocom, looking far too amused for Natasha’s own good.

“I’m sure you’re used to having to deal with people that have minimal emotional intelligence, but Natasha is exceptional even among them. Possibly their queen or something,” Darcy says, striding over to Natasha and resting one hand on her shoulder.

Natasha’s still trying to quell her instinctive flinch whenever Darcy does this, especially in company. It’s a work in progress.

“Ah, yes,” Okoye says, her lips curling in a slight curve. “I do believe that I see. And I can well believe that is true.”

“If there’s nothing else,” Natasha says in a desperate attempt to hold on to some shred of dignity, “I believe we can conclude our meeting now.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to detain you any longer,” Okoye says and cuts the connection before Natasha can respond. Instead she shifts her chair so that it’s facing Darcy and raises one eyebrow.

“You did say I could do that around people we trust. And Okoye was on that list,” Darcy points out.

Natasha is rather regretting that right now. “I don’t believe I said otherwise.”

“Your eyebrow indicated it. It spoke to me. Volumes, even.”

“Maybe you need to consult your translation guide then,” Natasha says deadpan. “It appears there may be errors.”

Darcy wrinkles her nose, before dropping the playful facade. “But, real talk, you’re fine with me doing that in front of Okoye? Actually?”

Natasha consults within herself. Nothing seems to spring to mind. “As far as I can tell? I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“And have you signed up for one of Steve’s support groups yet?”

Natasha looks up at her slanted, “Have you?”

Darcy wriggles a little. “I will, I promise. But don’t think I didn’t notice the deflection, babe.”

Natasha manages to control the wince at the pet name. It’s another thing she’s working on. Very deliberately, she sighs. “Fine. I’ll organise something next time I see him.” She looks darkly up at Darcy. “He’s going to be so smug in that ‘I’m very pleased for you that you’re doing the right thing’ kind of way.”

Darcy nods, satisfied. “Yeah, it’s kind of what I love about him.” A devilish spark lights up her eyes and she settles herself on Natasha’s lap, legs splayed around her, and entwines her arms around her. “So what about this? Is this okay?” she murmurs into Natasha’s neck.

There’s still the old fear, that this is going to go wrong, that this can’t possibly last, that after the end of the world, there’s no way that Natasha of all people deserves this. But, for the moment, she can put that aside and just enjoy Darcy’s warmth surrounding her, making her think that even in the darkest situations, there are still rays of light.

“I think I could be persuaded,” she whispers back.


End file.
